


Merry-go-rounds

by Susamo



Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [7]
Category: Perry Rhodan - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Reality, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:53:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25232707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Susamo/pseuds/Susamo
Summary: Investigations at Arkon's center, the Crystal Palace, and the Thek Laktran, where the government of the Great Empire of Arkon is situated, prove to be quite a hassle fraught with internal political danger.  The while Atlan tec' Gonozal, the young Crystal Prince of the Empire, gets to know his colleagues at work in the repair shop where he seeks employment, in Makarsa upon Tela-vhelor, where he is stuck and must stay in hiding from the men who abducted him and murdered the crew of his ship. He must prove his worth in the role of a young mehandor orphan, a trader boy who has lost both his ship and his family. For once, things seem to go right-apart from the fact that Atlan is in a situation he never could have imagined, and never would have wished to be in...
Series: The Adventures of the young Gos athor Atlan da Gonozal [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753825
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Merry-go-rounds

**Author's Note:**

> A logic sector, also called the extra sense or the extra brain, is the result of the hyperenergetic activation of a part of an Arkonide's brain. It is able to function and think independently of the main consciousness of a person and acts as a mental partner, communicating telepathically, advising its partner and call some matters to the one's attention. To achieve such an activation an Arkonath has to study at the Faehrls, the special universities like the one of Iprasa or Largamenia and must pass a most thorough and even dangerous series of examinations, called the ARK SUMMIA. The one who wins through the third grade is deemed worthy of being granted the activation of the logic sector.
> 
> All Arkonides have red eyes and white hair, and look like humans, though they have bone plates protecting their chests instead of ribs. Very rarely one of them is born with green eyes, which is thought to be most beautiful and attractive.  
> With excitement and agitation, an Arkonath person's eyes will easily water.
> 
> Upon Arkonath measurement of time, see the notes of my previous works. A prago is a day, a tonta is an hour, a minute a khela, and a second a sarton, a moment a mithron. A year is a Tai-Votan, a Votan is a month, a berlon is a week.
> 
> Sa'yath-all right, okay.
> 
> zakh’shon-damned, shit. From zakh’she, Dark Star (meant is a Black Hole)
> 
> Yoner-madrul, lit. “(Stomach-slicer, a man who cuts open the stomach), medic, doctor, physician. The word is very old.
> 
> shalluc-vermin introduced from miner stations to Arkon I, populating subterranean corridors and ducts. Even poison   
>  gas attacks have not been successful to wipe them out; a shalluc is considered to be ubiquitous, nauseating   
>  (-it exudes stinking slime), no good for anything and parasitic.
> 
> (susse) thrai-a flightless huge and dangerous bird, hunting from ambush and eating carrion, stinking of it-in short, the   
>  word is a bad insult.  
> Just for the sake of pure fun, let me give you a taste of my language project about the Arkonath language.
> 
> thrai-dangerous, aggressive fighting bird, half as big as an average Arkonath, defends its nest and its young to the   
>  death.“the noble war-bird”. (Compare to the eagle). There is a second kind, the susse-thrai, which is seen as   
>  less noble though no less dangerous. Bigger than its counterpart and flightless, it runs fast and far and kills with   
>  sharp beak and strong long-clawed feet, often from ambush between bushes. It will also steal from other   
>  animals and feed off rotten carcasses (carrion). ”Khespo matsyonen apra kadmatorno thraien thrafton   
>  akkosho”, Expression. To throw the net (in order) to catch the thrai before it attacks-to mount a last-minute   
>  rescue, to take measures to prevent a catastrophe from happening. “Kadmatorno thraien (matsyonenan)   
>  thrafton akkosho”-To catch the thrai (with the net) before it attacks-to save the day, to make a last-minute exit,   
>  to get one’s act together at the last moment. (Kherento) Matsyon apra kadmatorno thraien thrafton akkosho-(That   
>  was ) the net to catch the thrai (with) before it attacked-that was the point / the matter upon which everything   
>  depended, that was what counted (and what saved the day).   
>  Zahule alorthon sharis mirkandhoume da thrai-to appear, to present oneself as one who has been rescued out   
>  from the nest of the thrai-to look like something the cat dragged in, to be in an exhausted and bedraggled   
>  state, to look terrible, to have had a very bad experience. Also zahule akthon thraie hir sa orthoni vakthon-to   
>  appear, to present oneself as one who has been left behind as the thrai’s prey for her young (offspring)   
>  (meaning dragged as live prey for the young into the nest and left there for the young to devour).

Merry go-rounds at the Crystal Palace and elsewhere

Cunor da Gonozal, the Tai Moas of his people, the Begam and Mekhol Thekanth of the Tai Ark Tussan’s vast army and fleet, was at a perfect loss and felt himself to be terribly helpless. They knew which measures to take-but would they be of any avail apart from instigating a lot of trouble for internal politics? So little was known, they had such a dearth of facts and true leads. Even so-the whole of the Thek-Laktran, the Hill of the Wise Ones, was closed down, communications on hold. Everywhere the guards, accompanied by the huge models of the most efficient and dangerous fighter machines, controlled accessways and hotspots and offices, had all the Councils of State closed off, the Tai Than and the Thi Than, had the Berlen Than under control. Black-clad Golamo they were and red-dressed Kralas Sen-this was a time where His Eminence had thought fit to throw the weight of the Imperator’s personal guard into the scales.

“Yes. If you cannot hide the matter, it is better to show off and keep from hesitating with half-measures”, Cunor da Gonozal's logic sector commented. “You were provoked. This is as much a try at a game of power at your expense as it is a bid at the hostage game. Someone out there thinks he is manipulating you; he and the radicals will see what they have woken. Demonstrating power and strength is good also psychologically after such a stroke that is prone to make the Arkonath government look helpless and weak.”

“Not that I’d not feel helpless in the face of the situation and the facts”, the Imperator thought back, striding on with a grim mien, wearing Imperial Violet and instead of his white mantle the blood-red of death, surrounded by men coloured likewise. At his side one of the most feared men of the whole Tai Ark’Tussan was walking, Remarol the Guurth da Afkunis, clad in a red fighter’s robe, a helmet and a closed visor concealing most of his head and his face.

The Guurth was muscular and tall, striding along calmly, and had a bald head disfigured with scars, keepsakes of the torture the Maahks had put him through. As such he was going to keep them, he had said, rather offending the sense of aesthetics of some people than having the yoners remove the scars and implant new skin with new hair growth, and making him look as if nothing had happened to him.

That intransigence was one of the reasons the Guurth was feared so. Absolutely loyal to his Imperator and the Tai Ark’Tussan, he was absolutely unforgiving and merciless towards offenders and unlawful subjects and had the reputation of being severe to the edge of cruelty.

Searches had even started by now, ‘tronic masters of the Golamo going through personal files at office ‘tronic terminals, Servicemen scanning everybody to the nines and looking for data crystals, pulse keys, radio connections and personal items that might conceal recorders and radio connections. The office work of the government was on hold at the moment. Department by department was gone through; the officials and their subordinates had complied perfectly, everyone as helpful as possible, in the service of the matter at hand, the search for the Gos athor and his abductors. For now.

Cunor knew that the same actions were being carried out at this moment at Gor Ranton, the World of War, his brother Crest going through the same measures at Fleet High Command and at the military ports, especially where the TONDON had been in the dock.

They were on their way now to start the searches at private homes. As matters stood, their brother Upoc had offered to be the first on the list, together with his Acknowledged Companion, who lived with him here in the Gos Khasurn, the Crystal Palace. Their apartment at the academy of Iprasa was being searched right now; Upoc had handed over all the codes and had given the orders of opening up himself, the very moment the Golamo Chief had sent the query.

What all of this, and the accusations and suspicions against him and his Companion did to him emotionally Upoc had not shown. On-screen his face had been calm and impassive, the tone of his voice had been as calm, and his whole behaviour had shown the proper deference and obedience a subject owed his Imperator. Not even a bitter look had been in his eyes; but Upoc, as much as he was a privateer and avid and happy to be so, had been brought up as a scion of the Imperial family and was no less versed in concealing his feelings and behaving properly as were his brothers.

So Cunor da Gonozal had decided to be present when his composer brother and Asmayra his Companion were faced with an Investigation of the Kralas Guard and the Golamo, as a gesture of personal affection and grace, denying any accusation anyone might voice. Upoc had not deserved the volley that had begun to go at him, and neither had his companion; on top of the anguish he must feel in his heart for his nephew and his younger brother, now this!

For a moment the images Mekron kel' Dermitron had brought from the TONDON stood vividly before the Imperator’s eyes. Lesena ma Thyrenn had not just been Atlan’s nanny, she had been a close friend to Yagthara’s sister Merikana and a close friend of all the family; and as close were the two Escanthai, Asmayra irin Tharoc, and Yagthara tec’ Gonozal, though their fields of expertise were very different ones, and so were their ways of approach to a problem.  
But differences and sparks made a merry fire to warm a heart, Yagthara always had said, smiling fondly, when she had spoken of her lively discussions with Asmayra. All of them were most terribly hurt and shocked by what had befallen, and what had been done to Lesena, and Atlan’s bodyguard Kelta, to the Tai Kha’Laktrote Denios da Pert and to Khesal, who had been so much more than the simple attendant he had appeared to be-and all of it the young Gos athor had had to watch and experience from the closest distance, which was as terrible a crime as the murders themselves were.

Remarol da Afkunis threw a sidelong glance at the grim face of his Tai Moas and softly said: ”Two Guardsmen, though one Golamo and one Kralas Sen, could not be enough to stop a troupe of men suited up with full rigging and shields.”

Cunor da Gonozal’s lips compressed, then twitched. He was not surprised that Remarol could so correctly and narrowly gauge his thoughts; the Kralasenth’athor was one of the sharpest observers he ever had met and possessed both a brilliant mind and an activated logic sector. He knew body-language, and his Tai Moas for several years now personally; there was little that was hidden from Remarol’s perception at first glance, and nothing at the second.

Kelta had been cut up with more than twenty knife cuts, as had the Silver Guardsmen down by the hangar, for the symbol of blood for a guardsman, as they had determined. While Khesal-

The Imperator stopped in his tracks. His eyes widened.

“Yes”, the logic sector sent, cold contentment even sounding in that telepathic contact. “Yes. The overlooked man. The overlooked clue. The lead that might be strong enough to tow the traitor in.”

“Mekhol?”

Remarol had stopped too. His face had acquired an even sharper look-the part that was visible beneath the visor. But the tone of voice showed the attention the man was giving his Tai Moas.

“Gods, Remarol”, Cunor da Gonozal murmured. “You know all the images the Golamo took from the TONDON, don’t you? And you have had Mekron’s report on our preliminary conference, where we found out about the symbolic significance of the manners of death inflicted?”

“Yes, mekhol.” Remarol stood like a statue, or rather like a Kasha Cat motionless before it sprang to deliver the fatal blow to its prey.

“The guardsmen were cut up and made to bleed”, Cunor said softly. “And who else?”

“No-one, except-“ The Guurth da Afkunis drew in a sharp breath. He must be getting the sendings of his own extra brain now.

“Yes”, the Arkonath Imperator heavily said. “Yes, Khesal the unobtrusive attendant, who in truth was highly trained Kralas Sen and given this post to keep special watch and provide special protection to my brother on his trips, and now to my nephew.  
Khesal on Mirnekhol, about whose true function and identity exactly three people knew, three-me, you, Remarol, and my brother Crest. No-one else did, of that we were sure. Yet Khesal was not strangled, or hacked to pieces, or killed in some other way, but was cut up- though not like Kelta and the Silvers, he received three deep and long slashes, throat, stomach, and thigh-which made him bleed even much more profusely than Kelta did. Khesal was drenched in his blood, his clothes all coloured red with it, he was lying in a veritable pool of blood.”

Slowly the Kralasenth’athor, dressed in his blood-red robe, looking not unlike the clothes the corpse of Khesal had worn, inclined his head in acknowledgment.  
Then he looked up, and as concealing his features the visor was, Cunor knew he was directly staring at him with burning red eyes.

“Who managed to access his file?” he softly asked. “Who, and how, and when, my Imperator? There cannot be a rush of suspects with opportunity and possibility so scant that we thought it non-existent. Khesal’s file is the end of our lead-line that will tow in this raptor fish. And that line is strong.”

Upoc, with having no way of knowing about Khesal’s real rank and position, and with having no possible access to his file either, was positively off the hook now. Even if the public-and the accusing nobility, Orcast in particular-would not get that information, though the Services would. At the next conference, which was scheduled in three tonta’s time.

The brown-robed Escanth of Iprasa awaited Kralas Sen and Golamo investigators in his apartment, calmly inviting them in, and bowed properly deferentially to his brother. His expressionless face showed no emotion or excitement at all-Upoc tec’Gonozal might be a privateer, but he was as well-versed in politics and social matters as any scion of an Eldrith house and had been brought up with the same discipline and education as had been his more politically active brothers. He was not going to show what he thought or felt in the face of his accusers and of an official investigation.

Cunor greeted him with a genial inclination of his head and made a point of giving such an acknowledgment also to the mekhan of this household, Asmayra irin Tharoc, who had chosen a simple but very elegant house robe to face this Service troupe in, rather than the official Escantha robe of Iprasa she was entitled to wear. She had decided to appear as a strictly private person in this, good-her rigid posture, though, said how much she was affected by this all.  
She was very pale and had put on little make-up, just enough to look natural. A Mathamnara da Orcast would, in her shoes, have appeared as glamorously as she could-but the Orcast thrai was, of course, not in a commoner-born Escantha’s shoes who was Acknowledged Companion to the brother of the Tai Moas da Tai Ark’Tussan.  
Asmayra knew that she was the first target in this, together with her Companion as her supposed willing accomplice.

It was Remarol himself who questioned the pair, calmly, coolly and efficiently, but with a decided lack of that icy tone in his voice that could make him so frightening. Of course, the Kralasenth’athor knew as well as his Imperator that their newest insight excluded Upoc and Asmayra effectively from any further suspicion. Yet they had to go through with this inspection to satisfy the political need of the Imperator of appearing to be impartial. The reason why he knew Upoc to be innocent could not be imparted to anyone publicly or officially.

The Golamo commander at Remarol’s side documented everything, was recording the images, the voices, the bodily functions of the people interviewed, scanning their brain-waves no less than their heartbeat. Not the hormonal levels in their blood-not yet, that would only have happened after an arrest. Documentation was not so thorough at a normal investigation either, of course, but this was an affair dangerous to the state, to the highest degree.

The while the Golamo and Kralas Sen men and women with their robots were moving through the apartment, searching everything, were scanning and copying personal files, were going through contact storages at ‘tronic terminals, found every data crystal in the apartment, looked through every nook and cranny.  
The heavy metallic steps of the fighter machines went through the rooms and made the floor vibrate. Clothes were scanned, tools of crafts were inspected-Asmayra was a most famous artist, working with crystals, apart from her scientific work upon them-and even Upoc’s ancient baliset was taken out of its cover and scanned. 

At that the composer genius twitched at long last and had to fight the angry frown that had come to his forehead. But he mastered himself with a deep breath.   
The brothers’ gazes met. 

“I hope this is worth it”, Upoc softly said. “I hope that this will make the other Eldrith Khasurnai comply and bring us in the data we need to find and save Atlan. Gods-“

“Yes, brother. It will.” Cunor smiled sharply. “We have just now discovered another clue-and that clue proves you and your Companion to be innocent without a doubt.”

“Gods.” Upoc suddenly swayed on his feet, looked around, and let himself fall into an easy chair nearby, where he leaned forward and hid his face in his hands. “Gods”, he whispered again. For a moment he trembled-yes, Upoc tec’Gonozal was most deeply affected by this all. Then he looked up, his gaze intent. “A clue? A true lead?” he asked.

“Yes. We are nearer to the traitor than we ever were, and have a tough lead in hand.”

“Zhymathra and Zhymelesa be thanked. What-?”

“Sorry, brother-Service matters. Regrettably, that clue cannot be told of publicly either-so officially you will not be cleared from suspicion yet.”

Upoc smiled grimly. “That I can live with, knowing me and Asmayra cleared in your eyes and Crest’s, and the Kralasenth’athor’s-and a rescue for Atlan getting underway. Go ahead, brother.”

Cunor da Gonozal smiled coldly. “That I will, Upoc. That I will”, he said oh-so-softly.

The Escanth shivered slightly, looking up at his elder brother. Cunor seldom chose to show his darker and dangerous side which he must wield nevertheless, being Tai Moas, having to make hard and even merciless decisions from time to time. But he definitely had it and had grown hard and, in need, uncompromising in the service to his peoples as an Imperator in this war-and now seemed to be a time when Cunor had decided that he had to wield that severity. Gods, the traitor, and his assassin followers had no idea what they had provoked. 

The searches were spreading. With a grim smile around his lips-those were visible- the Guurth da Afkunis had proposed to offer the same courtesy of his personal interrogation to the Orcast family as he had given it to Upoc tec’Gonozal, and with the same grim smile, the Imperator had agreed and taken that offer. Let the thrai and her shalluc mate get the same treatment as their victim of slander. With them, Cunor da Gonozal was sure, the icy undertones of Remarol’s voice would be firmly in place; the sand-worms wriggling away in haste, but still discovered might be of real interest.

Looking at his wrist-com the Imperator saw that he still had some time before the next security conference would take place. Spectacular results were not yet to be expected, he knew. Together with the whole of the Thek-Laktran the grotto of the She’Huan, the Gods of the Stars was closed off too to the public and would be reopened only this evening, if the searches and investigations kept to schedule. The news services were of course covering and had been promised a news conference with the Tai Mascant Crest tec’Gonozal at pragolar, at midday.

Perhaps he could say something more to the peoples of the Tai Ark’Tussan then than that “the assassins are unknown as yet”. As discussed and agreed upon Crest would be the spokesman for the whole of the family as was his wont, and was the best one too, because he was the Crystal Prince’s father.

“Go to the Tai Mirkan Huhany, the Great Temple”, the logic sector advised, “as you have planned to do anyway tonight. A prayer will be private for you; in effect, only you and your immediate family are at liberty now to move around unhindered-Thyri and Asmayra and Upoc even excluded. The gathering of your inner energies and dealing with your feelings will let you achieve inner balance again, and you need that, Imperator.”

Gods, yes-the extra brain was right, as often it was.

Chuckling was sent. “Always, dear Imperator”, it said. “Always. You just cannot appreciate my subtlety every time.”

Their footsteps were echoing eerily in the empty halls, Imperator Gonozal the seventh thought, accompanied solely by four men of the Golds, of the Imperator’s guard of the Gos’ Sen, the Crystal Guard. Their uniforms of royal blue bore golden lining and emblems, as the Gos’athor’s had silver adorning their uniforms.

The Tai Mirkan Huhany very seldom was that deserted; after the news was given out of Atlan’s disappearance and the catastrophe that had befallen, people would throng these corridors and halls. The offering bowls would be full, and the personal gifts and sacrifices to the gods would perhaps not only be burnt at toktonlar, at midnight, “Lighting the Dark”, as they normally were, but at pragolar, at midday, too. The charity trusts would receive substantial sums as well, it was to be hoped. Gifts and sacrifices not offered directly to the Gods, as personal offers, but marked by a golden strip of cloth to say they were given in lieu of money-if they did not simply consist of credit chips or chronner coins-went to the charity trust dedicated to the God in question, as for example, gifts given to Famathra went to the Imperial orphanages, while money dedicated to Zhymelesa maintained homes and care for the irreparably disabled or insane.

To reach the Grotto of the She’ Huan one had to pass through the Hall of Gifts, a spherical building with a Dome of Crystal, which bore a round hole in its middle to let the smoke of the offerings go directly to the sky and to the Gods. Beneath it, the Eternal Fire burned, sacred to Sihayora, maintained at all times by her priestesses and fed by perfumed wood and coal pieces of different kinds and smells, according to the months and festivals. The gifts were only symbolically thrown into that fire. Burning them in it would have marred the fragrance of the fire and might not burn the gifts fully, the substances-often enough metal and the like-needing stronger fires to have them disintegrate and turn to energy. So within that ring of true fire, a disintegrator field hovered, receiving the gifts and turning them to pure energy which then was wafted up with the heat of the Sacred Fire.

Here in the Dome, their footsteps echoed even more loudly, reverberating back also from the niches dedicated individually to each Goddess or God, twenty-four of them all around, the females to the left of the person entering, the males to one’s right. 

This time was even better now than in the evening when he had planned it, Cunor da Gonozal thought, turning to Famathra’s niche first. He had a gift for the goddess prepared, in honour of the dead of the TONDON.  
Approaching the offering bowl of the goddess of death and rebirth he saw that he was not the first one to have come to her this morning. The gifts of yesterday were already burned and taken away, and since then the Great Holy Place had been closed to the public. But some people had had access during that time.

The two long strands of gleaming white hair, bound together by four threads-white and gold around the one, black and silver around the other strand, lay to one side of the offering bowl which was a meter in diameter.

“The Sisters”, the logic sector commented without giving any sign of surprise. Merikana and Yagthara had been closest to Lesena of all who were present today upon Gos Ranton; her husband still was away and must only now have gotten the terrible message that his wife and daughter had been killed.   
It was most fitting that the sisters from the family of Agh’Hay-Boor had assumed the colours of the Heroic Sisters, Hataga, and Osmaá Loron. Merikana was only two Tai-Votani younger than her sister Yagthara, and always had been the more earnest and severe one of the pair, and so had assumed the role of Osmaá Loron, the White One, while Yagthara, the more light-hearted and playful one, had taken black-clad Hataga for her symbol.  
Another, shorter strand was bound with dark blue and blood-red thread. That must have come from Crest, who apparently had gone to the Temple before he had left for Gor Ranton. Dark-blue for the fact that he had been the commanding officer of the men and women who had died upon the TONDON and was responsible for them, blood-red for the revenge he must have promised them.

The Imperator took out his small vibro-knife and cut off a strand of his own hair, and bound it with the violet thread he had with him, and added a golden and a silver one as well, symbol of the justice he would mete out upon the murderers of the TONDON’s crew. Silently he laid the hair into the middle of the bowl and added a credit chip he had prepared, similar to the three already at the bottom of the bowl. The imperial orphanages could do with substantial gifts.

Stepping back he held up his hands, palms downward, over his gift and prayed to the goddess to take up this offering given with a sincere heart, and bowed deeply to her glittering image glowing behind the bowl upon the curved wall of the niche, symbol of Her who guided the dead and guarded Life and Death and who surely Heard him now.  
With another small bow, he took his leave and turned, re-joining his guardsmen who had waited for him, having stepped back in respect for the privacy of their Tai Moas and Begam.

They went down the niches towards another one, which showed the figure of grey-and white-clad Zhymelesa, holding a globe of light in her hands, guide and protector of those who walked in Dark Places.

There, too, Imperator Gonozal the seventh had not been the first person to visit today.  
Deeply affected he looked down upon the long white braid in the offering bowl, the clasp that had held it still upon it. That braid he had seen countless times coiled high upon his mother’s head, held with that gleaming Bmerasath clasp, which was an ancient heirloom of the Ragnaari Khasurn and had been a gift Seliya had been given by her own mother when she married Mallacen da Gonozal. But it seemed not to have been too dear for her to sacrifice it as a gift to the Goddess of Light within Shadow, to ask her aid for the sake of her only grandson.  
The accompanying heavy silver bracelet, also adorned with priceless Bmerasath gems, was wrapped with a strip of golden cloth to denote it as a monetary gift for the priestesses to take. The old woman did everything in style; no giving a simple credit chip with her, in so desperate a case that seemed to mean everything to her.

“Your mother has already come from her retreat at the home Khasurn to stay at the Gos Khasurn for a time, apparently”, the logic sector stated. Yes. Mother Seliya had moved surprisingly swiftly.

Yagthara’s hair lay there too, this time bound with simple threads of white and green, the Mother’s colour. Her gift to the charitable trust of Zhymelesa was easily recognizable too-the bracelet of Zalos metal set with crystals of every colour had been a gift she had received from her Khasurn at her own wedding.  
From Crest, the strand bound with black and dark blue, the Father’s colour, must have come, together with a signet ring Cunor had seen often upon his brother’s hand. Father had given it to his youngest son at the winning of the Ark Summia. 

Priceless gifts, all of these; and as priceless was his own, the one he had received from his father’s hand as he had married, a brooch he was to hand on to his son.  
A son Fate had not given to him in that marriage to Farnathia da Orcast, and now he would never have one; the man to follow him was his brother’s son, who was as dear to his own heart. 

“Guide him, Goddess, save him and bring him back to us”, Cunor da Gonozal whispered as he tied the brooch with a golden strip and laid it into the bowl, followed with a strand of his hair he bound with violet and royal blue. He was not the father of the Crystal Prince, but he was one of his closest male relatives.

Dedicating his gifts and bowing deeply he retreated, to go into the Grotto of the She’Huan proper, to pray to Zhymelesa in earnest. He needed guidance from Under the Shadow himself too, he felt and would pray for his nephew some more.

The woman kneeling at the entrance to the Grotto Niche of Zhymelesa was an unexpected sight to the Imperator of Arkon. But he recognized her immediately, of course.  
Imaryn kanth’ Iraan was his sister-in-law’s personal secretary and accompanied her almost everywhere. Her eyes closed, her tear-washed face raised to the image of the Goddess, she was praying soundlessly. Two prayer crystals gleamed within her hands, raised in supplication to the Goddess who gave Light to those walking in dark places.

Who the woman was, clad in a simple white robe, almost lying on the floor, clutching the feet of Zhymelesa’s statue in desperate supplication, her whole body wracked by her low sobs, was no secret or puzzle then anymore.  
In deep compassion and sorrow as deep, and burning sharp anger at the traitors and assassins Cunor da Gonozal looked down at Yagthara, Atlan’s mother. She had kept her countenance as long as others had been present, but at the feet of the Goddess, her composure had broken.

Silently he drew nearer. Neither of the women heard him approach in her rapture, so the Imperator simply knelt and put his face into his hands, begging Zhymelesa to guide his nephew and save him, and bring him home unscathed and soon.

It took some time for Yagthara’s sobs to subside, and for her to get up upon her knees again, wiping her face with her kerchief. Looking up she saw her brother-in-law, who lowered his hands to meet her gaze.

“Oh, Cunor”, Yagthara whispered and was simply taken into his arms, both of them kneeling before the goddess, and was held fast as another weeping fit shook her body.   
“I was too cock-sure, too cock-sure of our safety, of the fact that our plans were right and would go well, that we did what was best for Arkon and for Atlan-and with him gone, all of it is in jeopardy, my son’s life and psyche balanced upon the Edge of the Sword-and it is my responsibility too that it came to that!”  
A new volley of sobs shook her as she half-collapsed into his arms.

What was he to answer to that, Cunor da Gonozal thought, an icy slash of pain tearing his heart, he whose idea it had been first, he whose wishes were orders to his family and faithfully were carried out because he was eldest and the Tai Moas? If his brothers had disagreed, if his sister in law had, in her heart-would they have spoken up, would they have opposed him and perhaps have made the whole plan of pushing the boy so hard collapse? 

“Yagthara and your brothers agreed because you were right, and so were they”, the logic sector replied, coldly. “And you know that. Logic suggested that you made your nephew excel in any way you could, and the Gods gave the gift that he could comply, that he took up the teachings and ran with them, swifter and better than any of you had dared to expect. That Sword you hope him to become is essentially necessary for the survival of the Tai Ark’Tussan; and from birth the boy has proven himself to be made of the steel that you needed to forge into that Sword, and to hone it down to a sharpness able to cut the life out of the Maahks in the end, saving Arkon and all the peoples of the Tai Ark’Tussan.”

“Yagthara, we all are responsible, and I most of all”, he softly retorted. “And yet we have done right, believe me. The results your son handed to us, handed to me-they surpassed my wildest hopes when I saw him listen to the Tai Than, heard him comment, seeing how much he understood, how well he could follow my explanations and reasoning.   
You gave more than hard education to him-you taught him to enjoy the acquisition of knowledge, made him love to learn, to understand ever better, to be fascinated by new worlds of knowledge and skill opening up to him. He was not pushed against his will; he loves to run this race, of that I am certain, my sister-in-law. And you did well to remind us all of the balance we must keep, letting the boy have fun too, remember that he is just that-a boy of not yet twelve. He will return changed, and yet-Yagthara, I am sure that even this will serve him to turn himself into an even sharper weapon to fight for Arkon's survival. It is his own ambition to learn and grow, and I believe that he is beginning to understand where his path is leading him to, where it is supposed to lead him. Mother calls it a Testing the Gods have sent him; and I believe that she is right in that. We will find the murderer; another clue has been found we will follow to its source.  
Soon Atlan will be found too, well, and unscathed. I am sure of that. Whoever has done this, he-or she-could have killed the boy too if that person had wanted him to die or get harmed. But he was only taken away-we are facing a dirty hostage game, with your son, my nephew, to be its counting piece. But that also means that he must be kept unharmed to play that role. By his very situation, he is made relatively safe, and the traitor has no idea how near we are to discovering him. Take heart, Yagthara. You will soon embrace your son again.”

She inclined her head, taking a deep breath, and righted herself, wiping her face once more, and was helped up solicitously by Imaryn, who had patiently waited for her mistress’ pleasure, silently going on praying, rolling the glowing crystal spheres in her hands.

The Imperator rose too and inclined his head as his sister-in-law gave him the proper deep bow he was due.

“Yes, my Imperator”, she said softly and even tried to give him a little smile which winked out too soon, but was a very brave effort after the emotional turmoil she had gone through, and probably still was within her heart.   
What a shame he could not tell her of the lead they had upon the assassin. But perhaps Crest would tell her; he would give leave to him to do so. Yagthara deserved to be in upon what gave so much hope to his own heart.

They took leave of each other. She had duties to attend to-one of them was meeting her mother-in-law and seeing she was well ensconced in her suite-and so had he. Mekron kel’Dermitron and Crest were awaiting.

Crest’s eyes were aglow. He had another lead to report of; the TONDONn’s flight plans, issued very shortly before take-off to Thantan Taneth, had of course existed about a prago before, and that manual’s positronic signature lock had proven to have been breached. Someone had learned of the exact codes and encryption values to be used upon the TONDON’s positronicon preparing for jump; only someone who had those codes and could lock into them therefore could change the jump position numbers and make the ship mis-jump to another destination.

“We need proof now for secret cargo carried and weapons in-built undetected, like the gas cartouches that killed the Silvers at their quarters or stunned the bridge crew, or the transmitter that must have been concealed somewhere to let so many attackers board so swiftly. Only the maintenance crew that saw to the TONDON, and their accesses, can have to do with that. The Servicemen, together with ours from other departments, are combing everything for most minute detail. The engineers and technicians are under preventive arrest and are questioned ceaselessly. So far everyone is cooperating most positively, but one of the men and women must be lying.”

Crest sighed. The arrest had allowed the personnel to be questioned with the full implementation of scanning and documentation, even people’s blood analyzed minutely. Further tests and analyses would follow later today, the next communiqué would contain the reports, the Golamo commander on-site had promised.  
At Cunor’s detailed description of the lead he had discovered-the symbolic significance of Khesal’s death-his brother gave a start and then squeezed his eyes shut, muttering “Damn, damn”, under his breath.   
“Of course. Damn, I knew and should have seen this before!” he growled. “Why didn’t I?”

“You were as distracted by all the other details as was I”, Cunor replied.

Mekron kel’Dermitron, who had allowed himself but a short elevation of an eyebrow when he had heard that a Kralas guardsman had been secretly on board the TONDON-with the Services kept ignorant-turned his wrist, agreeing, and inquired who, exactly, had been in on that secret, and raised his other brow too when he learned that there had been only three men who knew, period.

“That file must have a screamer tag on it as any other file of that level of confidentiality!” he said sharply. “Why didn’t it yell havoc all over the screens the moment someone hooked in who was not authorized?”

“My logic sector says that it would have screamed, in every case. The only way the tag could be kept silent would be to have an authorized person accessing the file”, Crest answered dryly.

Mekron made a wry face and flicked his fingers in a dismissive wave. “So says my extra brain”, he sighed. “Right. How many people carry an authorization upon that level? And what about contact storage? If that person had tried to delete storage recording the yell would have been as loud. So?”

“I’ll query, now”, the Imperator said, leaning forward and speaking codes and his orders into the ‘tronic pick-up. His voice, his retina, his brain-waves were scanned; so was his hand resting upon the reader pad. All of that data was in accordance with each other additionally. The screen in front of Cunor da Gonozal opened up, offering a very exclusive access to him. Kralas Sen’s files were not, for example, accessible to the Services, no matter the rank a Celista was, and that went even for their head, Mekron kel’Dermitron.  
It turned out that among the Kralas Guard only three persons had that authorization and access: Remarol the Guurth da Afkunis, the Kralasenth-athor, Katyra Maryeen, his second-in-command, and Toomard Eirekhar, his secretary, himself a most accomplished Kralasenath. A query already sent by the Guurth showed an extensive positronic search already underway, undertaken by sen’athora Maryeen and senath Eirekhar, constantly cross-checking with each other. They were chasing the proverbial brekkar down the duct, having a lead and a clue, but nothing substantial yet, an elusive shadow at best. 

That someone had accessed the file was clear from the spectacular results, namely, a dead man lying in a pool of blood. The file itself showed no tampering and had apparently not recorded any unauthorized access; the interesting thing was that among the authorized-and documented-ones-there was one which produced a most unusual echo, or shadow impulse. The fun was that the system could not say which access had produced that remnant of an energetic ‘tronic signature, as it seemed to “hop” from one access code to the next, echoing from another signature the next time one queried the positronicon. And that was the most sophisticated, enormous machine resting deep within the shelter of Gos Ranton’s hull, deep down in the earth beneath the Gos Khasurn, filling up the wide caverns molten out for that purpose to the last click. It was one of the two most powerful and vast positronicons existing within the Tai Ark Tussan, its equivalent having been built into Gor Ranton’s underworld.

“Without the positronicon being that sophisticated and that powerful and well-guarded, I believe that mirror-signal would not exist at all”, Ivsera kel’ Relláan threw in thoughtfully.

Crest snapped his fingers and leaned forward. “Mirror-signal, yes”, he breathed. Could that mean that someone went in mirror-mode?”

They looked at each other, all of them conversing with their logic sectors.

“Mirror-mode is not possible with this kind of system”, Ivsera replied haltingly. “And neither would anyone having access need it to get in. For concealing a contact, of course, I don’t know…”

“Put your best experts and ‘tronic masters upon that trail!” Cunor ordered sharply. “Secrecy about that matter is of less importance now than getting that contact identified!”

“Yes, Your Eminence.” Ivsera bowed in sitting. “We’ve already called for the best Service ‘tronic expert we have in-system, probably in-Empire. Imeela so Khatin. She’s in transit from Iprasa, where she has partaken of a Faehrl research project.”

Mekron kel’Dermitron cleared his throat. “Actually she’s Kralas Sen, herself, and upon a permanent kind of loan in need from the Guurth, so to say.”

Cunor’s lips twitched. Not every man or woman of his feared Kralas Guard wore the Red all the time, it seemed. This was an internal matter of the Luykan pack, done within the discretion of their leader.

“So, who else is permitted to read that file?” Crest asked briskly. “But for me and you, Your Eminence, as I know of.”

“Ka’Gortis Amonar kel Verathon”, Cunor retorted. “And here it ends again.”

“Hmm. What about Amonar’s secretary? Or someone else in that office? ” Tervonol ta’Meleyn threw in.

Crest grimaced and sighed. “Or my aide, Krishal da Orcast? Or someone who managed to hijack my access at Fleet High?”

“Impossible, mekhon!” Tervonol was truly agitated and tried not to show it. Only the tears of excitement threatening to spill from his eyes betrayed him.

“Tell me what else is impossible or should be so, Tervonol-after what happened yesterday.” The Tai Mascant went with his fingers through his hair in exasperation and threw it back with an almost angry gesture, brushing his own tears of agitation away with the back of his hand.

“The same goes for Tharakkan da Ragnaari, my secretary, holding the fort at my office right now and coordinating the queries coming in”, the Imperator calmly stated, at which both Ivsera and Mekron kel Dermitron flicked their wrists and took notes, even though they, possessing activated logic sectors, did not need such reminders.

“Yes, Your Eminence”, “Arctamon da Quertamagin said, taking down notes too. It would be his task to help further searches at the ministries.

“Not so few to be considered for possible access, it seems, more people than we have hoped for”, Cunor da Gonozal stated, his frown deepening.

“Only for as long as we cannot pinpoint and localize the mirror signal and its true source, Your Eminence. “ Ivsera kel Relláan seemed to be quite confident. “I put much trust in our ‘tronic whizz-mekhan.”

“Let us dare to trust her then.” Cunor stood, and the other followed suit immediately. “Conference adjourned, next meeting scheduled in four tontas time, or sooner according to developments.”

“Ia te, mekhol Thekanth”, they intoned, and went to get to their various tasks.

Tharakkan da Ragnaari was waiting with the Golds outside, pad in hand, and starting to report the moment his master gestured him to his side. 

“The Golamo officer having inspected me will give his report within the khela, Your Eminence”, he said, his voice too neutral to convey any emotion or opinion of Cunor’s personal secretary. The fact alone that he had been waiting without a Service escort and had been reissued his pad proved that Tharakkan had been vouched for and seemed to be declared clean, Gods be thanked. An almost transparent strip of biomol plast around his left wrist proved that he had given a large sample of his blood to be tested, probably with an analyzing device monitoring him during investigation too. A darker spot at the temple proved another method of close observation having been in use at the interview; the Service had read Tharakkan’s brain-waves and the energetic impulses of his brain to the nines, much more painstakingly than Remarol had done it with Upoc.

“If the two of you had not spoken about Khesal before that inspection, you can be sure Remarol would have proposed just as close scrutiny”, the logic sector threw in. “This attack is aimed at you personally and at your family, and at the whole of the state and government. Highest security and all efforts are the least that is called for in this case. No-one not absolutely thoroughly searched and investigated can be let into close contact with you and your family now! Be glad Tharakkan was probed so deeply, or you would have to be in doubt of him!”

A short wince of the aide as they went down the corridor, to the junction where the men in Service Black waited, made Cunor raise an enquiring brow at him.

Tharakkan grimaced slightly. “They have a new method, Your Eminence”, he explained, wincing once more. “Apparently there are components-contained in drugs and hallucinatory substances-that do not show up on a scan with a blood analysis, masking themselves as harmless particles. But they can be identified within bone-marrow-spinal bone marrow, to be exact. So they took a generous sample from there, proving me to be clean. They just had to use a quite thick-and long- needle.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Cunor raised his other brow too. “I thought that such methods were only used after an arrest?” he murmured, a tone of polite query giving the secretary the choice to answer.  
The aide gave a small bow. “Yes, Your Eminence, so I was informed. I could have refused both blood analysis and bone marrow test on the grounds that I was not yet arrested, but only detained for questioning. But that would have forced them to put my clearance on hold, of course, and you need me to do my duty at your side now, mekhol. So I consented, immediately. Glad for it to be over, though.”

Gonozal the seventh gave his secretary a short nod and a swift smile. He was glad too that he had such devoted people around him.

“Golamo Captain took all my codes and keys as well”, Tharakkan added with a more pronounced wry smile. “They are going through my apartment right now and will have a most thorough look at my rooms at our home Khasurn, as he promised me. I am even gladder that he said that private matters not pertaining to this case will be kept private and treated discreetly.”

The Imperator could not forego a short laugh. Tharakkan was nothing if not perfectly honest with his master, concealing nothing. He had an on-going love affair with one of the most famous courtesans of the Tai Ark’Tussan and had acquired deserved fame for the really delicate and inspired poetry he was writing to her, and to which she was responding in kind. Court literates had already predicted that those letters and poems one day would be a famous part of the literary canon of love poetry, to which lauds Tharakkan had responded that from now on they would only write drinking songs to each other; and had followed up on that, the next poem to the courtesan a drinking song in her honour, where all parts of her body and character were toasted and lauded, the poet apparently getting more and more inebriated in the process, which ended with the expressions and body parts expected in such a situation-but all of it according to the most exquisite taste, nothing of that song crude or offending in any way. 

The courtesan was reported to have laughed very heartily and had responded likewise, describing herself sipping liqueur, reclining on her bed, and thinking upon her lover. Those two poems had made the round at Court within a prago and had become famous throughout the Empire by the Votan following, being praised and avidly read, and being quoted in fitting and less fitting circumstances. 

Yasha an gosalénn, Yasha the beautiful, was of course truly a most accomplished artist, of poetry no less than of joy, and called so by right. The green khezz’dharr colour of her eyes was natural and as enticing as it was rare.

The Golamo Captain kept his report short and brief and declared the search at the Ragnaari Khasurn nearly completed as well, pending further analyses of bank accounts, contacts, data storage which would have to be gone through meticulously and to which all the codes had been handed over. To the point, this would be handled by Golamo and Kralas Sen, not by the other Services like the Tu-ra-cel.

That, of course, was one of the two trickiest points in the whole of this sordid and terrible matter, the second being the physical search of the Khasurnai, Cunor da Gonozal mused, walking along with his small entourage.

Gonozal, as well as Ragnaari, Quertamagin, Orcast or Zoltral, and several other Eldrith houses with all their Wenareth Khasurnai, their associated and dependent smaller houses, stood in the spotlight of this Case and the Investigation. That was because they had so many of their scions actively staying and working at the Thek Laktran and in the Gos Khasurn in particular that their whole Khasurnai had to be searched and the whole family was under suspicion. The Gonozal Associates, as well as the Gonozal cousins and lesser scions of the family, of course, had no logical motive to go against their own Khasurn and therewith weakening their own position, especially now that they held the Imperial Crest, theTecca-in short, the Black-and provided the Tai Moas to the Tai Ark’Tussan. On the other hand, everyone was agreed that the head of this assault was a traitor and a complete madman, and the men following his orders seemed to be mindless radicals who had no idea of what they were doing regarding the war and the Maahks. Under this circumstance, it became of interest again that the Gonozal cousins had had the best opportunities to get at some of the most secret data, information vital and essential to this whole affair. This was the reason why spinal bone marrow and blood were examined so thoroughly, as the traitor very easily could be under the influence of drugs or might be blackmailed because he was a drug addict.

So the Gonozal Khasurn in the highlands of Kogruk was as thoroughly searched and the Gonozal family members as assiduously questioned as were their Ragnaari cousins. Of course, every member of the Gonozal family had simply received the order of their Khasurn Laktrote, their Head-of-House, who accidentally was the Imperator himself, and silently had obeyed.  
So had the Ragnaaris, who had received a likewise order of their own Khasurn Master, who had decided that compliance and giving way with good grace was better than making a fuss about dignity. Seliya tec’Gonozal was born a Ragnaari and was the Imperator’s mother, and grandmother to the young Crystal Prince, who therefore was of Ragnaari blood too. So Makhal da Ragnaari thought it better to present his Khasurn as the one hurt together with Gonozal, one of their scions attacked, and firmly stood to the side of the Imperial family. Any other way, of course, would have cost them face; so they had turned a threatening weakness to an asset.

Orcast, as the first of the logical suspects, had not been able to close its gates to the investigators either. A bland refusal would have amounted to an admission that they housed the assassin; officially they were still bonded by the marriage the Imperator had had to their daughter, and which had not been replaced with another marriage.   
Either a new union would have severed the bond to Gonozal and would have put Orcast to instant opposition to the Imperial family, or-if the new Imperatrix were Althrita da Orcast-it would have renewed and strengthened that bond; and in hope of that Ramoros da Orcast had not dared to antagonize his officially still so-called son-in-law, the Tai Moas Gonozal homenn. Any refusal was made harder by the graceful compliance of Gonozal and Ragnaari. That the Golamo and the Kralas Sen became privy to their secret data was something no Khasurn would have accepted under any circumstances; that they promised to be absolutely discreet and keep that data safe was almost not enough. Yet under the circumstances as they were, refusal was-too dangerous. But Cunor was absolutely sure that massive protests were going to come up from the Orcast quarter, who truly had to hide a lot of worms that would start wriggling now.

Quertamagin, allied closely to Gonozal by the Soy Bond of the Ring of Ten, had proudly stepped forward and on its own thrown its gates wide too before their Khasurn Master was approached, demonstrating their loyalty. They had nothing to hide, they had said with head held high, while Zoltral, as yet not approached, was keeping silent and waited whether they would be investigated as a whole Khasurn. Those members of the Zoltral family who lived and worked at the Gos Khasurn and the Thek Laktran had individually obeyed their Tai Moas and Begam as quietly as had the other officials and officers-yet. With Zoltral the matter was far trickier because of Moryty. Zoltral might feel very much offended and hurt in its dignity; under the circumstances Baylamor da Zoltral could not Spill the Cup or Curse with Cup Poured, declaring House Feud with Gonozal-but that the relations would be soured considerably was too clear.

“Wait till that lead to Khesal can be followed up. If any family can be traced to be involved, let the investigations proceed from there; Arthamin, Kentigmilan, Amonte, Gamno, Nokoskhgan, Efelith, Falkan, Emton-they are next, and the Services cannot search every Khasurn at the same time.   
Apart from that, without any shred of proof it is also a waste of resources to spend time and effort to investigate whole Khasurnai if the members directly involved at the Thek Laktran or at Fleet High Command do not exceed a number of, say, three, and these in less exalted posts”, the logic sector advised. Yet Metzat, Minterol, and Orbanaschol would have to be approached too, and in each of these cases, a souring of relations was being risked. They could hope to find that lead and could have the Kralas Guard call them tomorrow if no further clue came up.

“I hope that the ‘tronic masters are swift and efficient”, the Imperator growled, getting all the data, the calls and queries for an appointment handed by Tharakkan da Ragnaari as he sat down in his office. No further call from Crest either; that meant that there was nothing substantial found upon Gor Ranton yet, khest’rell.

On top was a fierce official protest laid by Orcast, what a surprise. Ramoros was in a rage about the way the Guurth da Afkunis was handling this, framing his perfectly innocent wife and going at himself-that vid message must have been sent during a short recess in the questioning. Of course, every member of Orcast was refusing to be tested concerning blood or bone marrow, and the remote scans were thought to be as much an unacceptable intrusion upon personal privacy as was the way the questioning was held, and of course personal files and contact storage never would be yielded! That red-ragged upstart should better think that he was dealing with his Imperator’s father-in-law! Ramoros was trusting his dear son-in-law would call back immediately and set that ugly bald-headed monster straight and throw him the hell out of the Orcast Khasurn!

Only His Eminence had not called back and had not stopped the red-ragged, bald-headed monster. Cunor da Gonozal allowed himself a grim smile. Sorry, I was at my prayers, dear father-in-law, he thought ironically. Had not Ramoros always unctuously made a point of his religious and patriotic devotion?  
Well, well, well. Remarol had not called either and was reported to still be present at the Orcast Khasurn, together with a whole division of the Kralasenathi. 

Looking up he met the understanding gaze of his Ragnaari aide.  
“He will call again very soon, my Imperator”, Tharakkan ventured to say. “At least he promised to after the third short call while you still were out. I have of course missed two or three calls from da Orcast’s secretary, having been interrogated myself.”

“I am contemplating another retreat to the Temple”, the Arkonath Tai Moas murmured, looking up at the ceiling.

They grinned at each other, mirthlessly, then Cunor da Gonozal went on listening to and reading the messages directed at him.

The vidcom rang, upon the line that was reserved for truly urgent and personal calls. It was not necessary to read the signature of the incoming message.

“Here we go”, the Imperator murmured, and punched the tab. There was no putting off this matter, though he could have done with a little more time of letting the old shalluc stew in his own rage.

“Your Eminence!” It was almost a cry. Old Ramoros’ cheeks had dark red spots, and the eyes were-watch it, no fake-blood-shot. He was going to save this first image and hand it to Upoc in a holo-cube, Cunor da Gonozal decided.

“Your Eminence, we are being murderously harassed! I must lay the sharpest protest! My wife and I are being asked the most outrageous questions, and that in my own home which is invaded and searched-searched, your Eminence! Your-your-“

“My Kralasenth-athor, I gather, dear father-in-law”, Cunor put in with a little smile when old Ramoros sputtered and searched for words. “He has come to you on my orders. Yes, go on-?”

Old Ramoros was at a true loss of words now. He had paled considerably and was white now with true fury. An interesting sight, Cunor mused. Most times the old shalluc either smiled unctuously or had his nose high up in the air, or was red in the face with righteous indignation at this and that. In the background the sharply raised voice of Mathamnara was audible. She too had lost her countenance and must have her nerves going raw. Ber-sah, Remarol, the Imperator thought, applauding his Kralasenth-athor, cold anger at his brother’s slanderers in his heart. We’ll see what the red-ragged monster can catch under turned stones at this house. 

“He is demanding we submit to being interrogated with our blood analyzed and wants to take samples of our spinal bone marrow! Has anyone ever heard of such outrageous ways of conducting an investigation! I-“

“You have heard what has befallen, dear father-in-law?”

Ramoros da Orcast swallowed and seemed to become a little smaller on vid as he leaned back.

“Yes”, he answered in a hoarse voice, his eyes suddenly blinking. “The TONDON, the Tai Mascant’s ship, hijacked, the crew murdered, together with our Tai Kha’Laktrote Denios da Pert, and our Gos athor abducted. I surely understand that this matter needs to be investigated, with every means possible. But-“ The old man’s voice took up strength again.   
“But surely you cannot think of the Orcast Khasurn having anything to do with matters so sordid and dishonorable! Why, accusing us amounts to crime! We never would do anything to harm the state or your family, and of course have no motive at all, so why-“

Cunor cocked his head a little. “No?” he asked softly but sharply. Ramoros stopped ranting as if cut off and stared, wide-eyed, as the Imperator went on. “You would not do anything to harm anyone of the Gonozal family? Yet I have thought that you and especially your so charming wife have turned a little un-musical lately.”

Ramoros da Orcast gasped, apparently very agitated, and paled further.

Yes, message received and hit scored. Hit one. There would be further ones, Cunor thought furiously, feeling cold rage stir in his own heart. He’d had enough from that intriguing bunch, might they be Farnathia’s family or not. Now old Ramoros knew that he had been overheard and that his Tai Moas was a step ahead of him-and perhaps more than one, and knew how they had hatched and refined plans of intrigue.

“You should appreciate good music better”, he said, all in a quite sweet tone. “Listen to a crystal of my brother’s. His compositions can be so calming.”

“Yes, Your Eminence”, Ramoros responded in a choked voice.

“This affair needs to be cleared up as swiftly as possible, mekhon da Orcast. My brother Upoc has opened his door to the investigators first and has stood the same interrogation as have you, but with far better grace, I must say. I believe that what he can do, you can do as well. If you have not conspired against my family you will have nothing to hide or to fear.” 

Now, why was Ramoros paling further? Interesting-was there a flame hidden beneath all that smoke?

“You will understand that I must find the traitor and assassin threatening us all, and save my nephew, our Gos athor. How would it look if Orcast alone has not complied with the investigation as, for example, the whole of my own Khasurn has, or Ragnaari, or Quertamagin? You will understand that that would look very bad in the eyes of the public, politically spoken, and in regard to reputation. The blood samples and bone marrow tests are demanded to ascertain that no-one who has possible access to state secrets is a drug addict and can be blackmailed, or is under the influence of mind-turning substances.”

“Your Eminence, such a person cannot be staying and working at the Thek-Laktran!”

“One such person did, and does, and has hatched such a plan of attack-and has carried it through. Comply, please, dear father-in-law. I want to see you and your family cleared of all possible guilt, and free to act on my side and support me while I must do my work to guide and guard the Imperium, and bring back my nephew unscathed.”  
With that Cunor da Gonozal cut the connection. The screen turned blank. Old Ramoros did not call again.

“Gods”, the Imperator murmured, rubbing his face, and went on reading the messages.

Reports came in that gave him some heart. Crest reported some progress at Fleet High and the docks, one dock in particular where a technician was missing since yesterday. He had not gone upon the sick list and had not reported in either. The Services were on their way to his apartment now, where no-one had answered their call. The man had no family in-system, his whole circle of friends seemed to consist of his colleagues at work, who were questioned right now as to their acquaintance with him and what they knew of him-a certain Herrikamon Eythel, highly qualified, many times screened, most reliable-as were all the men at the docks serving Fleet High. But where was he?

Mekron kel’Dermitron called to say that the “Whizzing mekhan had started work with her team” and that further progress was being made with the searches, no rough incident yet, and no findings to the point either.

“We make progress”, the Imperator softly said. “I just hope we are swift enough at that.” He thought about further measures and gave his orders to Tharakkan and to other secretaries and officials, they being called in and bringing data, and leaving again carrying more. One department after the other at the Thek-Laktran was being cleared to take up it's working again, on a preliminary basis of clearance, of course. The data would take pragos to get and sift through properly.

Ka’Gortis Amonar kel Verathon called, crisply announcing himself and his personnel ready to start work again. The ministry of war was one of the most important ones and had been among the first ones tackled, and had been most thoroughly searched.

“Any findings?” Cunor da Gonozal asked, smiling. He knew his Ka’Gortis to be meticulous under normal circumstances and expected none.

“None, Your Eminence”, kel Verathon retorted, giving a small bow upon the screen. “It only seems that a few of my lads and lasses have met privately yesterday, after work, and have drunk together a little, trying out a new kind of h’ogoo-and they have all vowed to me today that this will have been the last time they have sampled that brand. The level of sugar in their blood was astonishingly high, this morning.”

“So this investigation has at least contributed to the keeping of my people’s health”, the Imperator retorted, exchanging another smile with the old warbird. “Keep up also the good work you do, you and your lads and lasses.”

“Ia te, mekhol Thekanth.”

One after the other of the ministries came online. The government was about to go back to its work as it should.

“And nothing has been found yet”, the logic sector whispered. “Though that is as it should have been. Only one of them all is a deranged traitor.”

The guard outside came to attention while the Gossenath captain on duty came in and reported the Ka’Addagtis Frantomor kel Falthaym to have arrived.  
Crest’s close friend came in and bowed deeply. His face looked drawn and worried.

“I am so terribly sorry, Your Eminence”, he said. “I will do whatever I can to contribute to finding our Gos athor.”

That he had already begun to do so was clear. Frantomor bore the same biomol plast-band around his wrist as did Tharakkan, and rubbed his neck shortly too. The Golamo officer coming after him handed in his report with an impassive face.

“Any positive results?” 

Yes, there had been, in this case. The scans of Frantomor’s blood and bone marrow had brought up some irregularities. 

Looking up Cunor met the gaze of his minister of the interior squarely.

“The old affair, Your Eminence”, Frantomor said, standing at parade rest, grimacing slightly. “And the medicine I must take every day of my life since then. I won’t forget either, as the Guurth da Afkunis will not.”

A trace of bitter hate was in Frantomor’s voice, and in sympathy Cunor da Gonozal inclined his head. They knew what they were speaking about; Frantomor kel’Falthaym had been one of the few of a group of prisoners taken by the Maahks who had managed to escape them after berlons of unnameable agonies. The torture that had been inflicted upon him had not branded him with scars to see as it had Remarol, but he had been used as a guinea pig by the methane breathers, having been given substances that would make his heart race and made him choke or made him writhe with pain. The traces of some of these substances still were to be found in his body-the spinal marrow in particular, where a body was prone to store stuff like that up when it could not get rid of otherwise; the Arkonath antidotes were stored up likewise, regulating the work of Frantomor’s nerves since then, preventing a heart attack or a lethal choking fit or a stroke of the brain, attacks others of his group had died of in captivity after having been shot by the Maahks with their poisons.  
It was a bit more than a Tai-Votan now since the Ka’Addagtis of Arkon had come back a hero with the few of his men and women who had survived, and the state of his health had stabilized since then. He lived, and he lived well, he was wont to say, as so many didn’t anymore.

“My office and my ‘tronic and data storage should have been gone through by now”, Frantomor said with a brisk bow. “I sent the codes from the last leg of my journey home. The conference and the negotiations upon Zalit were successful, surprisingly so, the shortness of our time together notwithstanding. I recommend emergencies shortening long speeches to increase efficiency.”

“Gods.” In spite of the heaviness of his heart Cunor’s lips quirked up. It was so refreshing to talk with these no-nonsense, brisk and efficient men who knew what life and hard reality were like, and did not waste time with etiquette and endless titles and niceties.

“Take a seat, Frantomor, and let’s get started. You are coming home to an incredible mess in the making which still is developing. I have even risks of House –Feud hanging over my head.”

“Moryty da Zoltral.”

Gods, Frantomor was perceptive and seemed to know the situation to the nines, no matter that he had been away when all of this was happening and shaping up. But who but the minister of the Interior should be best informed about internal affairs?  
They talked on.

The news conference was an unusual one. Though the journalists and reporters were used to hearing an announcement of the government, or of the Gonozal family, at that, out in silence, they normally began to submit a barrage of questions as soon as they could. Not this time. In laden quiet Crest was reporting about the worst catastrophe to have befallen the Imperial family of Gonozal for four thousand years, explained in short what had been found, what could be surmised to have happened, and what was being done about it right now. 

“Further results and measures to be taken, and any developments of interest to the public will be conveyed at further news conferences, to be announced a tonta previously”, Crest tec’Gonozal stated and sat back, in the mode he would when he was taking questions. But there were none coming.

Of course, some of the information had leaked out before. The whole Thek-Laktran closed off, the announcement of the Crystal Prince going to give medals at Solmanay and then not showing up for that occasion-Karmina Arthamin had given the medals to her people herself-Fleet High in an uproar, the Golamo and the feared red-coats out in full force-that something devastating had happened, to do with the Crystal Prince, had been abundantly clear. But this-

An elderly man sprang up, Ark’ media’s star reporter.  
“May the Gods keep and save our Gos athor! Long live our Tai Moas! Sinian Fama terak Arkona ian Tai Moas ian Gos athor!” he cried out, his fist pressed to his left breast, saluting like a soldier.

That cry was a soldier’s one too-our life for Arkon and the Imperator-but he had added the Gos athor also, fitting for the occasion. Crest felt tears rise to his eyes as the others sprang up, men and women, Arkonath persons and from other kinds, some galactic medics, the Aras, K’aan’lass, mehandor, a birdlike Scü, a felinoid Orbeki woman and a Morannii, a walking plant-and joined the call, saluting him.

Wordlessly Crest stood too, his fist mirroring the gesture, and bowed a little to these people and to the whole of the Tai Ark’Tussan, to all the milliards of different citizens watching this news-feed. Arkon and the Tai Ark’Tussan stood together; their honesty was already beginning to bear the fruit they had hoped for when they had decided for that course of action and for informing the people.

“His Eminence wishes us to stand together as we swear it every time we sing our hymn”, he said, and simply began to sing it, immediately joined by the voices of all the people in the newsroom. The feed was being transmitted everywhere, the special announcement having disrupted every other program running anywhere. The whole Tai Ark’Tussan could hear them now-

The sound was rising, seemed to swell and spread. Singing on Crest realized that it was no longer coming but from the men and women and other beings in the room, where the camera people and even the guardsmen had joined the hymn. It was coming from outside too, where hundreds, no, thousands of people watching the news over outdoor holos were singing as well, in the Crystal Palace, at the Thek Laktran, perhaps all over Gos Ranton, the Crystal World. 

“Perhaps all over the Empire”, the logic sector commented, even sounding impressed. “That was an inspired action, Tai Mascant.”

At his back the screen showed what the outside cameras were picking up, people standing there and singing, their fists laid upon their breasts. Yes, there were images now being transmitted from Gor Ranton, from mehan’Ranton,-this must be the main plaza of Zalit’s capital-

“And all of this goes out again, is seen by them all how they are standing together, all of them”, the logic sector sent, deeply satisfied. “Good work, Arkonide. The abductors will have very long faces now. Perhaps this will bring about the long-awaited reaction, which will provide clues and leads. Atlan has just now been given a better chance at returning home soon.”

Crest had tears running down his face, but he did not care-not at all. He was the Gos athor’s father, and people would understand why he was so affected at this display of real support. This, too, was the truth and would be taken in for what it was. Perhaps even his son could see and hear him now, wherever he was. Atlan, I love you, he thought at his boy. I will do whatever I can to bring you home. You are not alone-we all stand together, and will save you from the murderers of your closest companions!

At Makarsa's port district upon Tela-vhelor, Sera Krenna presented her newest employee-on trial, as she stated pointedly, but perhaps only preventively-to the other three mechanics as soon as he arrived, a few khelas earlier than his work-time would have started this afternoon.

That the merchanter boy had done his best to give a favourable first impression to his new associates in work was clear, that he was eager and ready to start work also. The young and surprisingly earnest face was scrubbed well, the bangs, inevitably falling into that face, looked combed, and the short braid was neatly done, while the somewhat oversized shirt was clean and crisp as it must have come from the washing machine, the trouser seams neatly tucked into the comfortable spacer boots the boy wore, possibly the only pair he had. When he took off the jacket to hang it up carefully, the cap he had held in his hand as he bowed in greeting added on top, he revealed a patched but well-usable worker belt which even now had an automatic screwdriver and a quite professional-looking hand-scanner tucked into it, and lo!- an object which looked like it was a simple testing rod for energy-telling a mechanic whether the line or the pole of a conveyor had energy or not, and how much and of which oscillation and fluctuation. This boy at least seemed to know the practical basics, good.

Sera Krenna gave a short appreciative nod and gestured her new employee onward to meet his co-workers, Arim, who grinned broadly and unceremoniously grabbed the boy’s wrist, already in a familiar gesture, Jheley, who was older than the specialist for drives but who inclined his head in a friendly way and wiped his oily hands upon his blackened worker suit before he took the youth’s hand, and the one who must be Sukkar, who stood tall and towering, the oldest of the three, and who somewhat looked sternly down his nose and eyed the newcomer sharply and without any smile.

To him, Atlan bowed earnestly and properly without offering his hand in perhaps unbecoming familiarity and kind of stood to attention when the man looked him up and down deliberately slowly.

“A mehan’skhe”, he murmured, just as deliberately above the level of a whisper or a true murmur, audible to all. “More of a scrawny waif than a strapping lad as we need him to hoist and work here. If you cannot do your part well enough under downworld conditions you’ll not do, whether you’re much older than you look like or not.”

Involuntarily the young prince’s eyebrows rose. This man was speaking as if he knew some things about the conditions of living not downworld.

“Have you been off-world before, ser?” he asked in a neutral tone, conscious of the shop-owner at his back who was watching and listening, apparently not going to come to his rescue too soon. 

“Ser, ha”, the tall and muscular man said, putting his hands upon his rather narrow hips. The mechanic almost had the figure of an athlete.

“Looks like you’ve been taught some manners, unlike some other people here I could name.” Behind him, Arim rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and exchanged a glance with his colleague Jheley, who was grinning slightly by now.

“Been working on-station, some Tai-Votani back”, Sukkar went on, his frown not dispersing. “Good money, but the lighter gravity cost me some of my muscles and the pap we got might have been good for my health, but became disgusting after some time.”

Atlan grimaced in sympathy.  
“I know the stuff. It isn’t called Fleet garish for nothing, I avow. Putting that in one’s mouth takes some courage or real hunger. Luckily I didn’t have to eat it too often. Onboard the Lirela we had hydroponics, and a hold full of goodies for ourselves too, not just for our partners in trade. Though the meat was vat-grown, in general.”

The man’s heavy white brows rose a little in appreciation and his frown lightened a bit, at long last.  
“Hydroponics”, he said. “That’s some luxury. You got your oxygen off the plants?” 

“Mostly, yes, ser, though that wouldn’t have sufficed for the full need at times, we had chem producing it too. But we could regenerate and clean most of our water by plants and sand, and had good fresh water to drink all the time, not the stuff with the tang at the back of your mouth that lets you wonder whose sewage this was the last round about.”

At that, the tall man actually grinned shortly. “Yeah, know that. On-station we solved the problem by drinking other stuff.”

Cunor grinned back, showing a quite mischievous mien all of a sudden. “So did my brother and the cousins, when and where they could. But Taddo kept merciless discipline when we were not in port. I remember Jalko spending a whole leg of a journey at galley duty, scrubbing away day-shift and night, and getting nothing but water and Fleet garish while he had to serve us the usual till he was near to howling.”

The sudden grin faded. “Shipboard you cannot afford to be inattentive and overlook something. Too much is vital and can blow up under your ass if you don’t keep close surveillance, and that’s not yet counting in enemies who might shoot at you and gut your whole ship if you aren’t on guard and get in the first shot or run in time-as my ship did not and could not when we were ambushed and boarded.”

Silence. The mechanics threw swift looks at their boss who had given them some basics about their new co-worker, but no details.

“Anyone of your folks got away but you?” tall Sukkar asked, surprisingly gently. That he had caught on to the fact that with a ship boarded there was little chance at survival if that ship got gutted and blown up after showed that he truly knew the risks of vacuum and deep space, and must have done repair work on small craft station-side, perhaps.

Cunor‘s chin came up a little in a small gesture of denial. “No.”

The word came abruptly and short, and as final as its meaning. The silence was profound for a few moments as the men held their breaths.

“Zakh’shon”, Sukkar said then as shortly, in a heartfelt tone. By the look he threw his new comrade in work he even understood about what that might mean to a mehandor, to be stranded without family and blood-bond and ship.

“Yeah.” Atlan sighed and let his shoulders sag a little and looked down. It was not the place and the company, here and now, to give more details, and the men seemed to sense that because they did not ask on. 

“Well, looks like you learned discipline and diligence, up there”, the tall mechanic said, inclining his head a little, his posture and stance having become more open and accommodating. “Means that you might do, being a waif notwithstanding. Sera said you’ll do the lighter work anyway, just as the law says.”

The boy gave a slight bow. “Heavy parts are no problem, ser. What I cannot handle myself I’ll put upon the hoverboard I screwed together yesterday.”

“Yeah, seen that. For all its simplicity that item looks like it might serve.”

“It will, ser, and so will I”, Cunor replied firmly and got back a short nod which the tall man repeated towards his boss, who answered in kind.

“Right. Sera said you’re good at programming. Got a ‘gravo lift projector here which is playing hopscotch with the ones riding it. An expensive piece, though, and the owner wants it back working in his house. Seems the thing blew up when there was a rupture in the power line. I got the mechanical parts back together and have it working as it should-up to a point when the regulating device decides it doesn’t concur. Haven’t found the chink yet. Can you?”

Atlan could not suppress the swift grin that crossed his face, having to think of the lift he had manipulated and which had been such a trap for the Tai Kha’Laktrote.

“I’ll have a look, ser, if you please”, he retorted and went over with the mechanic to the working bench which held the bulky device of the projector, almost weightless in its clamp-field, while beside it, deceptively small and no larger than a fist, the positronic part lay which should have operated the machine.   
Bending over it with a concentrated look the youth did not see the glances the mechanics all three exchanged with their boss, who after another short nod to them all quietly left her men to their tasks and went back to reception and some calculating work, satisfied that the boy had found some grace even in Sukkar’s eyes, who was the unchallenged leading hand among the men due to his experience and the fact that his range of expertise was broader than the one of most people, having worked up on station for some Tai-Votani. One could come with quite exotic problems to Sukkar and got them solved, and what he didn’t know he found solutions to nevertheless or dug out the data to solve it somewhere, much as the other two did too. Tela-vhelor was getting more traffic nowadays than it had for decades in the past, which had given an enormous boost to Makarsa economy lately, and so to the whole planet. The application of Cunor for work at her shop, now, was symptomatic for that kind of development.

The young prince found that he knew the type of projector well. A standard model, obviously; the problem here could not be the machine itself, but the calibration. One had this kind of lift projector in a lot of smaller craft, like Leka-discs and even cruisers up to a diameter of five hundred meters. The smaller lift projectors in the Gos Khasurn were of a like kind, though, of course, much more sophisticated and equipped with much better security and shielding against energetic influence. This model here had practically nothing of the sort, which probably exactly was the problem. 

Looking up he met the intent gaze of Sukkar.  
“Looks like, ser, that the projector and the operating ‘tronicon are sound and would work. Problem is, I believe, the application itself in a house onworld instead of somewhere shipboard.”

“Ah.” The man’s heavy white brows rose. “I was beginning to wonder. I’ve met the type before, had some in front of my welders when I worked up station and thought there couldn’t be much of a problem. But I never had to calibrate or fine-tune such a machine, of course.”

Atlan gave the tall mechanic a swift smile and a concurring flick of his wrist.  
“Exactly, ser. Thing is, down here onworld you are not in zero-gee conditions like you are out in space where all gravity you live with has been generated artificially. Down here you are in an environment where there is the natural gravity of the planet, pulling you down much harder than anything does off-world, much stronger though as these wells of gravity in space might be, them having far less influence because they are so much farther off. On a planet you have a natural and constant down, and an up that’s got to fight it. So on-world a much simpler device than this one might suffice, that can tell up from down and nothing more. Such a processor could not become confused either about what it is to do. But in a ship, you have a volatile and constantly changing gravitational environment, with gravity wells that can affect the ship with an enormous pull from one Sarton to the other when you come out of jump and get grabbed by the gravo field of that system’s sun, or a planet you pass. Then in a ship you have no natural up or down, actually it’s forward or aft, and what you stand upon and think of to be down more or less is back to where you are going, pushed by the drive, and relative to the surface of the planet you started off from, having “down” below you, you lie upon your stomach then, accelerating away. Also if you come in somewhere and stop and go to drift, you do not have to rotate the whole ship normally to have drive behind you so you can accelerate away into the other direction, but simply start the drive of the other side of the engine ring. Shipside you don’t notice at all that anything has changed and that downside has become up,-or rather, aft has become forward because artificial gravity simply has been switched as well and so fast that it made no difference to you. Gravity keeps where it was and just has to resist the pull and push of acceleration at the other side.”

The men listened with fascination, and even Sukkar, who must know all these facts, did not betray any impatience with these explanations but gave the boy an inviting nod to go on.

“Now, a gravo projector like this one has been designed for general use, more for being built in ship-side than down-world. Such a projector can sense and calculate the gravo fields pulling at the lift from everywhere, not just up and down but forward and aft, a perimeter of the full 360 degrees, and in a spherical three-dimensional manner, not just your two-dimensional circle like on a platter. Under average conditions, you have at least ten gravo fields of different strength and power that push and pull at your ship, and when you are coming out of jumps and decelerate down the gravity well going insystem, there could be fifty or more from one Sarton to the other. There are ships of differing mass passing you at different distance and speed on the incoming and outgoing lanes, there are stations turning and loading docks and minor craft running ‘cross-system. There are debris belts and comets and asteroids with and without bases that are emitting their own artificial fields, and there are your sun and the planets and the moons, and not least of all there is your own remaining mass and speed and acceleration and deceleration and the pushes and pulls of the drive as you have to slow down swifter for this and that reason. All those vectors of mass and acceleration and gravity work on your ship, and under such conditions your gravo lift must be working as flawlessly as it did before because you might not get hurt much from a fall of one meter, but a fall of one hundred in a light cruiser is your death, and the same could happen if you do not fall any farther than the typical ten meters in a Leka disc. Such a lift projector then senses all the gravitational influences around and their changes and ceaselessly calculates them and constantly equilibrates the gravo field of the generator accordingly. So does this model, and no harm is done if it knows that there are a constant down and nothing much more than the rotation and the acceleration of the planet itself to be calculated. But if, by that power rupture, the calibration the lift ran on down here has been erased in memory storage and the program switched back to basic, then now the ‘tronic expects constantly changing influences and gravo fields it uses to calculate, and might misinterpret energetic fluctuation and oscillations it reads in the vicinity as such gravo fields. Normally if such a more sophisticated model is used for a gravo lift downside it comes with the accompanying shielding to avoid just such complications, but this item here has none of these, it seems. Perhaps the owner, buying such an expensive device, saw no sense in adding to the cost. But now that’s to his detriment.”

Sukkar actually grinned. “Are you saying, Cunor, that this lift comp thinks it’s out in space and joggles gravitation and its passengers around according to the movements of the ship it thinks it is reading?”

The youth grinned back. “Yes, ser-that’s it in a pack and a parcel, I believe.”

The man threw back his head and guffawed, and the other two mechanics followed suit. The image was too hilarious.

“So what do you propose to do to get the-this ship’s lift-back downworld in its perception?” the tall man asked, brushing tears of laughter away from his cheek, still smiling at the merchanter boy.

“Why, ser-easiest would be to recalibrate. But that would only solve the problem temporarily. Those things have an emergency roster built-in. The moment an energetic reading comes in strong enough to jolt that, you’ll have the same problem again. Could be something as ordinary as a thunderstorm and a real flash hitting the house’s lightning conductors. So I’d say-add a proper shielding to that operating comp-you’ll know better than me what to use and how to put the thing into it, ser-and let me reset the program for downworld conditions. That’s a model designed for general use, the application for downworld going must be there as well. Possibly the one calibrating the program first did not have access properly and so had to do it on the fly, calibrating not in real data storage mode but in temporary, which is why a power rupture could erase the setting at all.”

“Or the device was bought relatively cheap from a Pharsko”, Arim said, grimacing. The boy’s questioning look told him that Cunor did not know that word.

“A pharsko literally is a “wrecker”, someone who illegally cannibalizes a wreck or a wrecked machine and sells cheaply what he has extracted”, the young man explained. “Or the thing was bought from an Avkho, from a fence-man, who receives stolen goods from the hands of criminals. We have had such cases where we were asked to repair things and found out they had been stolen somewhere, originally.”

“Oh. That could be.” Cunor looked down at the small operating tronic, considering. “I wondered-such a mini tronic is not typically used for a lift projector like this one. The ones I know have their comp inbuilt.”

“Gah. Happens in a port town”, Jheley put in, turning up his hands. “By now the original owner cannot be traced, and we would only antagonize the current owner who is our client if we made any fuss about the matter. The only thing of interest is, can you reprogram the thing, Cunor?”

Atlan gave a sharp grin. “Can do, and will, ser”, he answered, deadpan. “No problem, daaaayme chronner, eeeasy money.” At that catch-phrase hinting at shader business, the men laughed again, and Sukkar clapped the new co-worker on the shoulder.

“That’s it, Cunor. We are honest folk here and do not cheat anyone or sell anything shady, that would be bad for business. But here upon Tela-vhelor, and especially in these districts of the capital near to the port, we have to be realistic too and ignore some matters which we cannot help.”

“Sa’yath. I get it, ser. Ranton sthovo reehn ian zarakhen, as the proverb says-a world has a day-side and a night-side.”

The men grinned and went away to their own tasks, and let the young mehandor start work in earnest, carefully prying open the tiny ‘tronic’s outer cover and baring the lock-in contacts, where Sukkar could help the youngster, who soon proved that he needed no help where hacking a ’tronic was concerned.   
The comp’s program truly was blocked due to non-professional handling but could be coaxed to receive input within five khelas and was running as it should within another ten, the programs reset to their optimal running and taking the calibrations the mehan’ brat was tapping in with flying fingers upon Sukkar’s keypad lined in.

The tall muscular mechanic eyed him with interest and gave him the long look the young prince by now recognized.

“How old are you, Cunor, exactly? Your handling of that thing shows some real expertise, expertise I didn’t get within the ‘bout five Tai-Votani I worked off-world, and I got me some teaching too. I wouldn’t have put such work past you on first sight, and not on the second glance either.”

Atlan grimaced. “ID-card says I’m thirteen passed, according to standard count, ser. As to relative counting-that’s different somewhat, of course. With draw-out calced in, I’m fourteen passed, I think-though I don’t really know. Comp had the exact data, but comp’s part of a cloud of ion gas, now.”

The tall mechanic snapped his fingers. “Way past fourteen and rising fifteen, rather almost there, I gather”, he said in a firm tone, stating a fact instead of asking a question. “Looking at you a bit more closely anyone can see by the look on your face and in your eyes that you are not a kid anymore and have had some experience.”

The mehan’ youth grimaced once more. “Yeah, some of that experience I had pretty recently, ser”, he murmured, bending over his work again, putting in some more data to have the comp run smoothly from now on.

“I know.” Sukkar patted his new co-worker lightly upon the back as he walked over to another work-bench, and let his hand lie on the shoulder of the youth for a few heartbeats longer before he took it away. 

The small gesture felt surprisingly comforting and strengthening, making the young prince feel welcome and safe here all of a sudden. Surprised he looked up and gazed after the tall mechanic who was bending over another item now, seemingly fully occupied with that.   
When Atlan let his glance fly across the room to the other two men he saw Arim winking at him, showing him the sign of “Chan-sa,” All-clear, while Jheley gave him a friendly nod before he let his screw-driver run on.  
So it seemed that he had been taken in and was accepted with grace, the youth thought, feeling sudden relief well up within him like a liberating wave that made tears rise in his eyes for a moment. It had worked well with Rhonn and his gang, and now, against all the odds, had gone very well also with this new place of work. Perhaps the Gods had heard his pleas and were giving him help and support beyond the average luck people had.

The gravo lift was behaving now and showed no irregularity at all anymore when it was given a test-run and another one for good measure. Well content Sukkar put the whole together with a few knowing touches and added what must be the shielding the young prince had recommended. 

“Well, Cunor, between the two of us we got the job done. That was your first successful repair completed for this workshop. You’ve proven your worth, good for you and us. On to another task, now. These two communicators need fine-tuning, which you might do better and swifter than I can. The pattern I want them to run to I have noted down on the pad, here. See whether you can match these critters to that.”

“Yes, ser”, the mehan’ youth responded earnestly, even giving that so polite small bow, and went, sitting down at the working table and starting the holo to see what he was to do.  
They had not been at their work for long when suddenly sera Krenna stuck her head out of the door to the office and called:” Hey, lads! Something’s going on on vid, there’s a special newsfeed out they say is sent Imperium-wide! They say the Tai Mascant himself has an announcement for the whole of the Tai Ark’ Tussan! That you should not miss! Come in and watch!”

Atlan froze at his place, suddenly feeling stiff and numb and terribly cold. A news-feed Imperium-wide. Had uncle Cunor decided to inform his peoples about the catastrophe that had befallen? Was father going to announce the dire fate that had struck the Imperial Family to them all, as the Gonozal Khasurn’s spokesman now as he had spoken for the Imperator’s Khasurn before? Would that be good for him here and now in his predicament, or on the contrary would put him into greater danger?  
No matter. Father-he would see and hear his father…  
For a few moments, the crystal the young Gos athor had built up around his heart in his imagination threatened to dissolve and let spill the emotions he had locked in there safely. Gods, he was going to break out weeping when he’d hear his father speaking and see his face. Gods, he could not get up now and go watch this-  
But the others were rushing to the office, and he could not absent himself without making them wonder, and especially with such news told to them. They might even see the connections then and draw the obvious conclusions-and where would that leave him, with no protection from any attack of official but aggressive and corrupt and traitorous authorities and their allies the murderers, who would learn of his whereabouts before he could communicate with the authorities outside this world? They would find and catch him again and leave with him before anyone off Tela-vhelor would learn of this, and would be gone with him once more.

No. He had to pull himself together and act as normally and unobtrusively as he could and keep himself to the background. Perhaps his reactions would be overlooked or his agitation thought normal with the contents of this news-feed. And then-he was Cunor, Cunor Lant’cer the mehan-zarak, who might feel sympathy with the Crystal Prince because of a terrible fate shared, but who had his own life and goals that had nothing to do with the life and the fate of that Eldrith boy-he was mourning his father Aloroy and his mother Lesanna, and Kel his brother. The Imperial attendants or officials who had died upon the TONDON had nothing to do with Aloroy Lant’cer’s son, and neither had he heard of them ever before. That was his truth now, and reality. That was how it was.

With a deep breath, Atlan got up and followed his new comrades in work, who were already crowding the small office where sera Krenna held the center seat in front of a vidscreen, which now showed the symbol of Tiga Ranton and the Crystal Palace, together with the Gonozal sun, making this an announcement of official government and the Imperial family itself.  
With due gravity and ceremony the commentator announced a special news-feed and declaration of the Tai Mascant, and the next moment her image was replaced with the one of Crest tec’ Gonozal in his full regalia of the Tai Mascant complete with insignia and cape, who stood at his place in the conference room as he usually did when he spoke for his Khasurn, emphasizing the importance of his words by standing instead of sitting.

The young prince felt how a suddenly appearing lump in his throat made his breath come short and almost choked him. Unbidden tears rose to his eyes again and threatened to spill. “Meth!” his thoughts called silently to the grave face of his father, who could not hear him, could not see him, could not know what had happened and where he was. All his family probably knew of their scion was that he was alive by the ‘corder running and scanning by the lock of the TONDON the murderers had carried their prisoner through.  
Luckily none of the men and the woman looked his way, all the people of sera Krenna’s workshop were staring at the screen fascinated, where Crest tec’ Gonozal told of the catastrophe that had befallen his family and the Tai Ark’Tussan, and this so vile and criminal attack and assassination. 

Ark’Media wasn’t supplying any pictures or additional information yet, like the name of the ship attacked or lost, or the names of the victims of murder or their faces or the stories of their lives, let alone pictures taken of the corpses, which the young Gos athor was sure the Imperial office of communications was not going to submit. The Tai Kha’Laktrote Denios da Pert would be named, of course, and so might perhaps even Lesena ma Thyrenn be, since she no longer was in active service to the Gos athor and his family anymore, being dead. But the other faces and names of the murder victims would still be kept under security screening and would be referred to only by general address like “men and women of the Silvers” or “crew of the Tai Mascant’s personal yacht”, or “personal attendants to the Imperial family”. As much the young prince was sure of, knowing enough of Security procedures and measures, and Golamo internal protocol, not that all of that was data he should have known. If ever Mekron kel’ Dermitron caught up with the Gos athor’s clandestine reading of data, he would get such a dressing down!

Father had sat after announcing the initial catastrophe and was sitting back now like he did when he would take questions. By now Atlan’s face was awash with silent tears, being reminded so strongly of the horrors he had experienced and had seen, and having to watch his father’s face, seeing his mouth twitch, hearing the little catch in his voice which would not be noticed by many people, but which he knew of, telling him that his father was deeply affected and would have broken out in tears himself, telling of all that, if he had not had to pull himself together like this in front of the whole Tai Ark’Tussan. 

No-one among the assembled reporters, visible in the view of the cameras now, was putting forth a question yet, they were all too stunned, which was news indeed, speaking of journalists of the Tai Ark’Tussan.

Then a man sprang up whom the young prince knew well, Laskanor, Ark’ media’s star reporter.   
“May the Gods keep and save our Gos athor!” he cried, fist on his breast like a soldier. “Long live our Tai Moas! Sinian Fama terak Arkona ian Tai Moas ian Gos athor!”

Atlan felt struck as if by a hit to the breast. The man had called out for him too! A soft sob escaped his throat, but that sound was drowned out now by the noise of the many reporters there in the conference room, saluting the Tai Mascant in unison too, who bowed to them and said that the Imperator wished his people to stand together as they swore it every time when they sang their hymn.

And then the young Gos athor heard his father sing that hymn, joined immediately by the voices of all the people in the newsroom. The feed was being transmitted everywhere, the special announcement having disrupted every other program running on any vid line. The whole Tai Ark’Tussan could hear them now-could hear the Tai Mascant, could see his face and the intent gaze he sent out via the camera, seemingly looking directly at every watching citizen, speaking and singing to everyone as directly, personally addressing every person seeing and hearing this news-feed.

His hand pressed to his mouth to keep in sobbing and any words he might whisper, staring back at the screen, Atlan knew that his father was looking directly at him now, at his son, willing him to know that he thought of him, loved him, never going to give up till he had him back and was hugging him as he did every time his boy came to him back from somewhere, once the cameras had turned away. The look in his father’s eyes, gazing intently and directly at him, told the young prince that unmistakeably.

At the conference room, everyone had joined the singing now, and then the vid showed in side-slides how it was spreading, people joining the hymn of the Tai Ark’Tussan out on the Thek Laktran, at the main plaza of Tagnor, the capital of Zalit, then at other places, other planets, at space stations and trading posts, wherever cameras of Ark’media were stationed and now took pictures of Arkonath people and of other kinds of citizens who stood saluting or not, singing the hymn while watching the news screens and holos, which showed the image of the Tai Mascant in its center still with the changing pictures of people singing at the sides faded in.

Krenna had risen, and stood to salute like the uncounted people out there did and started to sing now too, within moments joined by her employees, Arim and Jheley singing with lighter voices, while Sukkar had a deep voice reverberating in this small office room.

“Prathol-ahnoy stharonme-vhe, ahsanne karaneko maylanekorol. Nanshovaithakheme pravasolanitheme kathen shov’ ssa, ian lakthwarakheme ekhran mermen, yha’melanome ian votanthar khekimo sene pranntherol.   
Thanori ian famayai da Tiga Ranton, feroni ian inathi, She huhaneken ian Thiathen thrucome kanthasenanrol koith’ Tai Moas akritho Taien Tussanen .   
Sothai ian vrathri sinian kiithsafamese mermen, prathol-ahnoy stharoneme-vhe, nhanshovaitheme ian fheranneme an Thurynen. Ahsanne ahnoy ghoreme rhifesen mermen, yenno khekimo gornikhe-vhe! Sinian Fama terak Arkona ian Tai Moas!”

“Together we stand forever, true to our ancestors and our children. Having gone out we followed the Sword Flung Out, and have found our home, which we love and forever shall protect and nourish.  
Sons and daughters of The Three Worlds, brave and wise, we trust in the Gods and the Highest Power, and with their blessing, the Tai Moas rules the Great Empire.  
Sisters and brothers of all our kinds, let us stand together forever, let us Go Out and brave the Deep. True to each other let us fight our enemies, whom we shall defeat forever!   
Our Life for Arkon and the Imperator!”

Through the open door of the office, going out to the street, many other voices could be heard. The people of Makarsa were joining the singing of the hymn as unrestrainedly as anyone else shown upon these side-slides around the face of the Tai Mascant Crest tec’Gonozal, whose cheeks were becoming wet with tears, but who sang on, undeterred, surely knowing which kind of storm he had unleashed. This was a moment in history that would be remembered for a long time. The people of the Tai Ark’Tussan were not just singing to comfort a terribly hurt father who had lost his son and was in fear about that son’s life. They were declaring their loyalty to the Tai Moas and the Tai Ark’Tussan, they were promising their support to government and the ruling family and of each other, standing together in truth, they were demonstrating their defiance to the traitors and assassins, showing their will to endure even under the strains and the horrors this war was putting them through.  
And they were declaring their loyalty and devotion to their young Gos athor.

Atlan had not been able to join the hymn at the start, with his voice choked by his silent tears and the violent emotions burning in his heart, almost overwhelming him. But he had to sing too, he knew it, or the men would wonder, and then-the hymn sung by milliards of people was compelling on its own, pointedly addressed to the Gos athor da Arkon personally wherever he was, calling him to his duty who was the first servant to the Tai Moas and to the Realm, set as a protector and guide to his people no less than the Imperator was, though he was under his uncle’s command. Then he could add his voice, thin at first and shaky, but gaining strength and soaring with the others at the conclusion of the hymn as they swore their lives to Arkon and the Tai Moas.

The news-feed was ending as Crest tec’Gonozal bowed to all the people and saluted them once more, and then it was the commentator who explained what they had seen and commented on it, but shortly and in an almost shaken and awed voice, promising additional data to come in about a tonta with special documentation.

Atlan felt Sukkar’s hand upon his shoulder as he fell silent and turned his head, meeting the deep red gaze of the man. They all were shaken and felt deep emotions, apparently, and there was no hiding the fact that his face was awash with tears; but so was sera Krenna’s face, and even Arim and Jheley had glistening cheeks.

“I felt reminded so much of the loss of my own relatives”, the youth murmured softly by way of explanation to the tall mechanic, “and feel so sorry for the Gos athor and his family because I know so well how they must feel. Gods, he had to experience and watch the deaths of people he cared for and knew, much as it happened to me, but he isn’t even twelve yet-“

Would Sukkar buy that? Would he feel convinced by this pointed reminder that Cunor Lant’cer was three Tai-Votani the senior of the missing Crystal Prince, making impossible any connection between the two? 

The man’s grip tightened a little before he took his hand away. His gaze he kept trained intently at his youthful co-worker.

“Take heart for our Gos athor”, he replied softly. “Unlike you, Cunor, Atlan tec’Gonozal has a family and a home left to return to. But about his excessive youth, you are right. You have the figure of a youngster no older than thirteen, not much taller or stronger than our Gos athor’s. But looking at your face and into your eyes, anyone can see that you are some years older in truth than you look like. Surely, as you said, the experiences you had to go through lately have contributed to that too; and it will be so for the Gos athor as well, who might have seen something of what was done to the ship’s crew and who must be in shock and feel desperation and horror as you have felt it, and do so still at times.   
I understand you better than you might think, Cunor, for I too have experienced and seen some things in my life I would rather forget, out there on the station and before that. So now with our Gos athor. Rest assured, he will be less a boy and more of a mature person when he is found and rescued and brought back to Arkon.  
But you see, Cunor-many of us here upon Tela-vhelor have had to grow up young, and face dire fates, and yet have had to go on. I, too, have seen some bad things happen here in Makarsa, with criminal gangs and street gangs fighting each other, with criminal organizations in action as they are on many backwater planets and colonial worlds. But so it is, and so it is the more now in this war. But we must not give up. We must not give in, but have to stand up and fight, and go on fighting, and in the end, we shall overcome, defeating assassins and catastrophes and the Maahks. We must stand together, all of us, and such a thing as has happened now will teach all of us to do so the more, Arkonath and colonials and K’aanlass’, and your kind, Cunor, the mehandor, and the Aras and the Moranni and the Orbeki, just all of us who are citizens of the Tai Ark’Tussan no matter of which kind. And as you have done, surviving though with a heart hurt and pierced, and facing life anew after such a shock and a loss, fighting on, looking for a job and doing it well, going forward again in your life-so will our Gos athor be able to do once he is back at Tiga Ranton. He will know and understand all of us, the simple citizens, the better after this, and might become a Tai Moas exactly as we need him in this time of the Tai Akh’ Gor.  
Perhaps Fate and the Gods have decreed this to happen not to all our detriment, but to serve as a lesson to us all that might prove vital and a Sahyas Payneen da Asa’nan sahín, a Gift of Fate, in later times.”

Open-mouthed the colleagues and the boss of the tall man had listened to this speech. 

“Wow, Sukkar”, Arim murmured in a deeply impressed tone, and Jheley but inclined his head gravely to the older man, while his boss sent him a warm smile.  
The tall mechanic looked back at the young mehandor, not deterred from the target of his speech, and saw how deeply affected and touched the youth was, and how well he must have understood by the intent and open gaze he returned, giving his older colleague a deep and very elegant –looking bow.

“Yes, ser”, he softly said. “I take your words to heart.”

Somehow his voice had a ring to it that did not fully square with a young unobtrusive mehandor-as if Cunor was saying something very profound, very important to him, something that would turn out to be important for many others as well.  
Sukkar gave the young mehandor a curt nod and almost brusquely turned and wordlessly left to go back to his work. Silently the others followed suit, too impressed by all of this-not least their older colleague’s speech-and within three khelas the tools hummed away again at the workshop.

The ‘tronic whizz-mekhan was chasing mirror images down the duct, her team reported, which were dancing every which way the moment anyone tried to nail an image. Swearing was done in a most inventive way by more than one person in that team, a grimly amused Golamo officer told the head of the Secret Services, Mekron kel’Dermitron.  
The Golamo boss allowed himself a short fleeting smile at that and asked for results, but with that no-one could oblige-not yet.  
Two tontas ago something most unexpected had come in, though.  
Remarol the Guurth da Afkunis-no-one else-had offered an examination of himself and his closest staff, those two who had access to the file which was their strongest lead to the assassins now: Katyra Maryeen, Remarol’s second-in-command, and Toomard Eirekhar, his secretary, himself a most accomplished Kralasenath. A query sent by the Guurth as soon as he knew about the significance of the servitor Khesal’s death had gotten an extensive positronic search underway, undertaken by sen’athora Maryeen and senath Eirekhar, constantly cross-checking with each other. They had been chasing the proverbial brekkar down the duct, having a lead and a clue, but had gotten nothing substantial out of the matter. What seemed sure was that the access at the Akeras Luykanth, the Luykan Lair, was not the one which had been hijacked.

But who knew that but the Luykan pack themselves, and who could swear to it who did not wear the Red?   
Under these circumstances, it was absolutely necessary that the Services could trust each other, though, and so the Guurth had offered to Mekron kel’Dermitron that they three of the Kralas Sen should be as closely examined by him and a yoner-madrul of his choice from the Golamo as had been Tharakkan da Ragnaari and the other most trusted men and women who that way had been cleared of having taken drugs, knowingly or not, or showing undue agitation at being questioned and cross-examined.

The Golamo chief had had to take a deep breath while he had looked back into the Luykan Chief’s face on the vid, matching him stare for stare. Khesal had been Kralas-Sen, yes, as he had only now learned. But couldn’t someone from Golamo have learned that as well? The Golamo had not had the necessary access, granted. But he, their chief-? Might he not have learned something, somewhere, at some time, he who was informed by everyone?

So Mekron kel’Dermitron had inclined his head to the bald and scarred man on the screen and had in a voice as calmly and business-like responded that he was honoured by this trust offered and would do the examination personally, with Ivsera kel’ Relláan as his yoner, who was an accomplished medic of the Tu-ra-cel and would know what she was doing.

“And since trust has to be offered back to be worth anything”, he had added as calmly, holding on to Remarol’s intense gaze with his own, “I will submit myself and Ivsera to your examination and questioning, in the same manner, Remarol da Afkunis. The-five of us-should be able to trustworthily cross-check each other and eliminate any doubt of each other. Neither need anyone be informed of this meeting of ours till it is over and the results of it sure and clear and sufficiently documented.”

At that, the Guurth had elevated his eyebrows, but that had been all, apart from the respectful inclination of the head the Golamo chief had received back. This action of theirs was a first in history; but so was the attack that had been executed upon the TONDON, and the abduction of the Gos athor da Arkon. After that, anything seemed possible.

That meeting was scheduled within the next half-tonta and would most likely not bring any new findings for the five people involved-but it surely would truly strengthen the trust and respect they had for each other. Ivsera had been surprised when she had received the news-very surprised. But she had not hesitated to assent for a single Sarton when she had been asked for her cooperation, no matter that the Golamo chief could have ordered her to cooperate. New things all round indeed. What would come next? That the young Gos athor, barely twelve, would reappear a fit commander of fleets as he had been known to say he wished to become when he was grown and would win a dire battle in space against the Maahks?

Mekron grimaced and shook his head at himself and absurd ideas like that, and went to meet the chief of the Tu-ra-cel, having gotten the equipment they needed together. The unexpected meeting with the Luykan pack would take place in a small conference room here at the Gos Khasurn, one chosen by random choice of the positronicon only a few khelas before, which provably had been unused for pragos and last had seen a meeting between artists of fashion to compare their works and to set up a festival together to present their newest creations. They would not find hidden gadgets to endanger anyone there or hidden spy-ware; the greatest risk one ran with that legacy was getting stuck by a lost and forgotten fixing needle.

Tai Moas Cunor da Gonozal homenn, the Imperator of his people and undisputed sovereign over fifty thousand inhabited worlds, with a total population of about fifty billions of intelligent beings at his bidding, took a deep breath and stopped for a moment in his tracks. He had to admit to himself that he was afraid, afraid of one person he was about to meet-his mother. Of course, he was not truly afraid. But he felt apprehensive-yes, that was the word-

“Do not try to deceive yourself, my Imperator”, the logic sector sent, remarking with quite a vitriolic irony.

“If you are in some awe of anyone, it is your mother, and with reason. She is, after all, the female head of your Khasurn, and the spiritual authority not only your Khasurn but the whole Empire looks to, apart from true spiritual power like the Arkanta’s, the High Priestess of Hocatarr. There are matters where even you have to obey her, your power and rank and status notwithstanding-and that she is, frankly said, extremely displeased with you at the moment you already have heard lately, by Upoc’s direct quote of her words. You better prepare for some more of the kind. You were right with the course you ordered for your brothers and for your family, granted-but even you have had to admit that your mother had a point with the matters she has criticized before, and more than one. So, give her critique the due it has, and bow your proud head where you have to. You will know where your mother is right and can do with some admonitions-and the rest you will be able to deal with, at the latest in Thyri’s arms.”

That reminder of female support he could count upon made the Imperator smile wryly for a moment as he gave a push to himself and resolutely passed the sliding door into his private apartment, to meet the woman who was rising from the couch to greet him, turning to her son.

He had prepared himself and had known, of course. But this-this image he had not expected to see.

His mother, the icon of classic dignity and appearance, had cut off her long braid to offer it to Zhymelesa for her grandson’s sake, that her Imperial son already knew.  
But not that she had cut her hair so short that it did not even reach shoulder length anymore. With the length of hair she had had to offer to the goddess there had not been any need for the old woman not to keep to the decent minimum length an Eldrith lady wore her hair, which at her age was at least halfway down the back.  
Seliya tec’Gonozal appeared like a working woman of the middle class now, even as a spacer or soldier woman would wear her hair if she did not prefer an even shorter cut closer to the head to have everything out of the way.

Wordlessly Cunor looked at his mother, any words he had prepared to greet her with stuck in his throat.  
For the Gos athor’s grandmother had gone farther in her merciless demonstration of her feelings and her attitudes.  
She could have worn Lavender, in mourning for her family’s losses, though none of the dead of the Tondon had been close friends of hers; she could have worn full Khasurn regalia in defiance of the clearly high-born assassin and murderer and his as yet unknown house. She could even have worn light-grey Dagor clothes, or a dress of white to express her spiritual role for her family.

But Seliya tec’ Gonozal wore a dress of light green, aizelyn, the colour of hope, the colour preferred most by pregnant women or people expecting a joyous event.  
Not in remembrance of Lesena, Atlan’s nanny, as much was clear. It could only mean that in defiance of fate and the fears of all the people of the Tai Ark Tussan, the Gos athor’s grandmother was grimly stating her hope that he would be found again, would return to Tiga Ranton unharmed and well. 

“Oh, mother-“ that was all Cunor tec’Gonozal could say, in a strangled voice. He bowed to her deeply, as deeply as he had done it when he was a young man not yet the Tai Moas of his people.

“Do not say to me that you are sorry, Cunor, or start to apologize to me. Reserve your apologies for your nephew whom you owe them to. To me-you’d better tell what you are doing to find and free him, and what has been achieved by now!” the old woman said in a stern voice. 

Looking her son fully in the face she added:” I am not going to stay back and let the three of you fools of men handle this all alone on your own, badly as you have done it for Tai-Votani now. I will do my part as much as I can. Whatever I can do to contribute to the recovery of my grandson, and to keeping our Khasurn safe even through such a crisis, I will do. For that, I need information as much as you give it to this fool blithely obeying his older brother, and I expect you to give it without keeping anything back. I understand Yagthara is absolutely devastated. Well, she should be, thinking herself to be competent to judge the situation psychologically, thinking herself such a knowledgeable Escantha-which she even is, concerning non-arkonath peoples. She just forgot that with her own son she did not have the competence to judge. Did you all take Atlan for an insectoid like a Taa, unquestioningly working away for the hive, or a reptiloid Dron born from an exalted clutch of eggs, only bent on fighting and living the life of a soldier? 

Left aside the ideas a man like my second son might have, who happily throws off any responsibility for the family and the Empire aside to put it upon his nephew’s shoulders who still is a child, and goes off composing and having a good time with an Escantha commoner born, even taking her for Acknowledged Companion-not that I’d have anything against Asmayra personally, she is a woman I highly respect as the person and Escantha and artist she is. But she cannot be a wife to Upoc and cannot bear his children, and doesn’t. He is enjoying himself while he is forgetting any duty he has to the Khasurn da Gonozal! Instead of putting so much pressure upon the boy to have him become an even sharper blade to fight for our people you should have ordered your irresponsible brother to marry a proper Eldrith lady, my dear Imperial son, if you had known your duty to the Tai Ark’Tussan! As well, where are Atlan’s brothers and sisters who could step to the fore now, and might have to if he is to fight in battles as you are planning him to do, as I must infer from the way you have him trained? I grant you that in times of War like these the Gos athor must fight for his people actively, and cannot hide behind a woman’s skirts or do something else than stand up for his duty. But Gods, you were so sure that you knew the right way to hone this sword you think my grandson to be even sharper, didn’t you? I’ve heard you say so before, my Imperial son, proud of the schemes you came up with and the Gos athor you were shaping and honing to the demand. Pride might come before a fall there, Cunor, if the Gods aren’t especially lenient with us all now, and especially generous and merciful! But the worst thing is, my Imperial son, that it is not you or the others of my fools of sons who have to face the music they ordered, but this innocent boy of twelve, this child who isn’t allowed to be a child anymore and has to Run Rooms like a common Serviceman. 

You know, Cunor-when he comes back to us, and may the Gods grant that he will-then he will not be a child anymore, of that you can be sure of! Are you proud of your work now, Tai Moas da Gonozal, and proud of what you have schemed and wrought? Gods, your father, might the Gods keep him, could be gentle and wise and clever, but he sometimes was just as much a damnable fool, especially in this matter of Orcast which has made the dilemma about my grandson’s situation as the only heir to the Khasurn and the office of the Gos athor the direr and has in fact given rise to it at all. But you, Cunor, much as I understand about Thyri and you, and about you not marrying again, least of all an Orcast, an attitude I can but heartily approve of-you haven’t done anything to alleviate the situation upon other sides and ends, on the contrary, you have aggravated it. The boy was so dutifully taking all the load you wrongly put upon his shoulders, and went off with it, not knowing that you did not treat him well at all, all the three and four of you, the fool of my daughter-in-law counted in. You all put your responsibility upon the shoulders of a child, who out of the love he bears his parents and his uncles did as he was bidden and taught, and even thrived under the pressure-it seems there you did not even misjudge him, that poor grandson of mine. Yet, what has all of this come to? You have made the Khasurn very vulnerable with this policy, Cunor, great Khasurn master that you are, and the Tai Ark’Tussan as well, wonderfully done, my Imperator. The consequences Atlan has to bear now for you, a child not yet twelve having to hold this gap you have carelessly opened for anyone to thrust the sword in! It seems you are very much your father’s son in misjudging some things and in being a fool, and so are your brothers! Gods, I could weep and howl about the fate my only grandson now must bear! The Arkanta calls this a Testing, and tells me that I must bow to the decree of the Gods, who sometimes send blessings in the disguise of horror-but Gods, how can I see a fate like this as a blessing in any way, can you tell me that, Imperial son of mine? Your responsibility this is, all of it, and if your nephew comes back to you relatively unharmed it will not be through any merit of yours, but only by the mercy of the Gods and their grace which you haven’t deserved, not at all, mark me.”

Seliya tec’Gonozal took a deep breath and kept looking intently at the face of her son, whose skin tone was not pale anymore but ashen.  
“No, Zhymelesa hear me, and Merakon-it will not be your merit, Cunor, or the one of Upoc”, she said, in an almost bitter tone. “If anyone’s but the Gods’ it will be the merit of my poor grandson whom I believe to wrack his mind now how to escape, attempting to fight by the methods he has been taught, perhaps even succeeding in this or that way. I have already heard from Upoc that the abductors’ message that logically is to be expected hasn’t come in yet, which is a curious matter with so much time having passed already, and that the Service people hope that it is Atlan who is responsible for that, making trouble for his abductors as much as he can, perhaps even now on the run through their ship or some such thing. So I hope too, and showing that to all and sundry I have dressed accordingly. On the logical alternative, that the boy is not available to his abductors to blackmail us because of an accident that has happened to him I will not dwell in thought, not now and not ever. So, Cunor. What have you done up to now, and what has been found out?”

The dowager Imperatrix da Arkon sat down and looked at her son expectantly. Cunor tec’Gonozal simply sat down opposite his mother, also because he felt that his strength to stand up in the face of this barrage was beginning to fail him. Gods-in so many aspects of her words his mother was right, and where she wasn’t, she still had at least a point. Gods, now he knew why Upoc had looked so tired and distracted. Additionally to what he had quoted to his brothers, he must have heard a lot about his neglecting of duty and his non-existing marriage plans. At least that, Mathrenna be thanked, he was spared, with the sound political reasons he had to stay unmarried.

“We have found more than one lead, mother”, he answered, forcing his voice to sound calm and strong instead of shaking as he almost felt it to do. “Some others we still have to hunt for; and one lead strongest of all which will and must lead us to our enemy, and that in pretty short order. I have told no details of this matter to Upoc, who is proven innocent by it, since he is, so to say, a civilian person. But Crest and I are hunting for a person now who has bared his or her way of thinking too carelessly…”

He went on to tell the Khasurn Mother all he knew. That she could keep secrets he was sure of; and her help might prove to be vital and was needed as much as a well in the desert. Already, for her sake, Ragnaari had decided to comply; and in her face, even Mathamnara da Orcast would not dare to accuse Upoc further, or try another such attack. Not in the face of Seliya tec’Gonozal with her hair cut short like this, the new length of her hairstyle a silent ongoing cry of protest and pain and outrage, a demonstration of her feelings no-one could or would miss, and so was the colour of her dress. Even the Thrai and her shalluc mate would have to bow to the old woman of Gonozal, who had been their Imperatrix in decades gone by, and whose wisdom often had tempered the impacts of some actions of her husband.

Waving a friendly greeting back to Arim and Jheley-after he had properly bowed to them too, as he had done to Sukkar who had even given him back a vestige of such a bow Cunor Lant’cer went his way to the office to get his instructions for the following prago and hear the first verdict of his new boss, sera Krenna Marneen. He felt pretty confident, though, that she approved of the work he had done this prago. It was eight in the evening now, and Sukkar had told him to stop cleaning after Arim and Jheley and sent him up front, “According to the law we’ll see to it you do not work too hard”, he had stated with the shadow of a smile.

Sera Krenna greeted her new employee quite friendly now as he presented himself in a posture that almost could be called a parade rest. No mention, this time, of a sprig or a waif; the young mehandor seemed to have proved his worth and his mettle to everyone’s satisfaction, at least for today.

“Well, Cunor-I say well done. Sukkar is content with what you did, and so am I. As you will not have regular working time like a full adult and do not have a bank account here at Makarsa yet, and might prefer not to open up one, you’ll have your wages on a credit chip daily after work. Here it is, with the first of your earning of this prago. Keep an eye on it, you aren’t within safe conditions and environment here as you were upon your ship or upon a station of your own kind. Tomorrow please come at the same time and bring that chip again. I’ll transfer your pay onto it in the evening then. That savvy for you?”

“Yes, sera, very much so”, Cunor said, his eyes shining a little darker, and gave that polite bow of his. He truly approved, as much was sure.

“And here’s something to study, recommended by me and Sukkar too.” She handed the youth a crystal, whose tap-holo said “energetic fields and oscillations, and the significance of their reading.”

“That will teach you how to interpret which kinds of readings”, sera Krenna explained. “Sukkar will examine you about this tomorrow, he said, and will show you in practice what you will have read about. Some things you will have to know swiftly if you will serve as his assistant.”

She smiled warmly, seeing the boy’s shy smile. “Seems Sukkar approves of you. Well done there, too, Cunor. Normally he isn’t that open too soon.” 

Atlan, who hadn’t thought the man’s curt manners too open either, grinned shortly. She went on:  
“Have you found lodgings by now you can stay at without too much cost? Do you need assistance to find something?”

Sera Krenna was truly considerate and helpful. Atlan smiled back at her. “Thank you, sera, but no. I have found a berth in a shared house of a group of young people.”

“A berth.” She smiled slightly. “I see.” A little frown came to her face.   
“Where did you find a shared house for young people, here in the port district, Cunor? You as a mehandor, I realize, will not stray far from the port and do so well, for your own reasons. But you must understand, my lad, that here in this district it is not as safe to live as at others-but out in uptown proper you might be less welcome and might find fewer opportunities, of course. Well-“ she looked at her new employee expectantly. Oh, Gods. Atlan was glad, on the one hand, that his employer should care enough about him to wish to see him safe and well, but on the other hand, he could not use inquisitive sniffing into his business. He had to convey to her that he was safe enough, and could deal with problems that might arise.

Consciously willing his cheeks to colour a little by unobtrusive Dagor breathing he murmured: ”Well, sera, there was this girl I met…”

Her eyebrows rose, but she did not comment.

“I had invited a small girl to dinner, before, at the restaurant”, he remembered out loud. “She was so thin and looked frail, and stared at me eating-not at me, but at my food, you see. I have lived well and carefree shipboard, sera, with my family, but after I lost them and was all alone I quickly learned all about fear and loneliness and even hunger. So I understood what was wrong with the little one, and invited her-she wolfed down four helpings of bread with cheese, I couldn’t have eaten only half. But after she had gone this girl addressed me, when I was leaving.”

The shop-owner had inclined her head in understanding as he spoke about hunger and inviting the little girl, not in sorrow or compassion but simple acknowledging of facts. Sera Krenna must have seen much and was accustomed to seeing and getting to know a lot, here in the port district, yes.

“And what does this girl look like?” There was an expectant little gleam in the woman’s eyes now as if she already guessed the rest of the story. Of course, it must be common practice for a sex-worker to address potential customers, and strangers in port were exactly that, even if he was somewhat young for such an honour.  
He grinned sheepishly to convey the matter the clearer and saw his boss caught on.

“Well, she’s-very beautiful, and dresses in a-a breath-taking way, and moves like that too.”

“Oh, dear”, sera Krenna said, her lips twitching a little. “Cunor, take care. This girl-“

“Sera, I caught on quickly what her profession is”, he retorted, willing his cheeks to redden further. “I mean, there’s nothing new to me with seeing that, you have the ladies at every port, if not as beautiful and gracefully moving. A painted ankle like that tells its own story, doesn’t it? But that’s nothing yet for me, and never should be-at least as long as I live shipboard. In our culture, we do not meet girls in such a way before we are passed fifteen, and then it’s a sleep-over on-station with a girl from another ship your own clan is associated with, and the Wives of both ships must have approved and Deals of changing ship must have been struck before. We mehandor, we stay together because of the Blood-bond, and we don’t risk ourselves with-with outsiders.”

Looking into the wide eyes of his boss, the youth bowed a little and added:” Begging your pardon, sera.”

The shop owner's mouth closed with a snap while a sharp smile came to her lips. “I see, Cunor”, she breathed. “Not so naïve, you are, as you look like, do you? Of course, you are much older than what you look like, to our eyes.”

“Not that much.” Atlan grimaced. “She invited me, of course, and I told her about much the same what I have told you now. But she wasn’t put out. Turned out she had seen my treatment of the little girl she knew, and thought me a good-hearted fellow, and seeing her so friendly I asked for her advice and help, about living somewhere really cheap but still safe because I have to save up my money for a passage out of here, not spend it on a dingy hotel room. She offered me a bunk with her-her-I think that is called a wenadoran here. And she said it was perfectly safe, they would protect me against others. This district, near as it is to the port, isn’t a too safe one, exactly as you said, sera.”

The woman’s mien had become an alarmed one.  
“Cunor, you hold on to that chip of yours day and night, then. A wenadoran, that’s good on one side and very bad on the other-how did you get them to take you in at all? Just for the smile of this girl? There’s something more hidden there, I bet. What are they charging you in truth? Get out of there, lad, as swiftly as you can!”

Atlan gave another small bow. “Thank you very much for your concern, sera. But you see, sera, I have understood very well that these young people are what is called a street-gang elsewhere. Why, at the port district, that’s to be expected, isn’t it? But they have their own code of honour, and as a mehandor, you have to learn to rub shoulders with such and pass each other peacefully. We have taught people on-station that stealing or doing worse from a mehandor can come out bad for them; we don’t take any shit from anyone either. Anyone who wants good trade must learn to behave properly and keep to minimum rules. Those who don’t won’t get served anymore, and learned their lesson quickly. Sometimes we have to land and berth in at quite shady places and dangerous ones. The Maahks won’t know any mercy for anyone and are out for cheap provisions as much as some Jülziish pirates are, and some such fights are fought station-deck or even on-world, and not with your ship’s guns either when they think they can ambush a bunch of mehandor. I’ve been trained to shoot, and hit the mark, and make use of a knife one always can smuggle in if one has to negotiate with strangers who might think you good prey, and as well, shipboard there isn’t as much room to move in as it is downworld. So we train much and hard in our ship’s gym, and Kel my brother and Khenn my uncle have taught me some Dagor, and that’s the real coin the wenadoran youths are charging me with. We have a struck a proper Deal with each other, and have the agreement going that I don’t have to pay up with chronners but will teach them some Dagor tricks and moves-will have to be the basics, I guess. And for that, I am offered a safe berth and the protection of the group and can save my money till I can buy my passage.”

Sera Krenna was pursing her lips now and inclined her head a little while she eyed her new employee in a different way all of a sudden and a quite respectful one.

“I see, again”, she breathed. “Well, well, who would have thought that. The mehan’sekh’ is a mehan’skhe in truth and has claws hidden in that innocent-looking fur. Dagor, my ass!”   
Atlan bit his lip to keep from grinning as she looked at his hands closely, perhaps understanding now what she had felt with the harder skin at the hands’ edges of her young employee. But then she frowned again.

“Take very good care, Cunor”, she warned, “not to get into any trouble! A wenadoran has rival groups, and there is street-fighting going on in this district, far too much for anyone’s taste, might they be law-abiding or shadier people. As well, those new friends of yours surely do not all earn their money as honestly and by hard work as you do. They might ask you to partake in shady actions-and lad, you won’t wish to have a brush with police down here!”

“Cay, meh-I mean, no, mam. I absolutely do not wish for that. The Deal I have struck includes me being exempt from any-ah, private actions of the people who have taken me in. The only exception is if they are attacked by someone, and I therefore too, actively-then it’s self-defense, and I will fight then. But only then.”

Sera Krenna flicked her wrist, but she still gnawed her lip in worry. That she didn’t advise her young employee to go to the police in such a case or to the authorities spoke its own language, and neither did she seem inclined to throw him out just on account of him having berthed in with a wenadoran. Yes, here in the port district people knew how the Tashma went and had learned to live with matters as they were, dabbling in them themselves if they had to. As honest they were here in sera Krenna’s shop, yet Jheley had warned the new guy to make a fuss about stolen goods. As he had said to the men, “Ranton sthovo reehn ian zarakhen, as the proverb says-a world has a day-side and a night-side.” They had grinned and approved instead of frowned at the lenient morals of their new co-worker.

“If you must fight in such a case, then you must”, the shop-owner said briskly and gave another flick of her wrist. “We too, here at the shop, have had to draw limits on some matters and had to show our mettle before. That concerned would-be thieves as much as a try at robbery or open tries to deal from a pharsko or another. But the police won’t go easy on you, Cunor, no matter that you might be innocent or have been attacked first. You are a stranger here, and look legally a minor-of course one sees you’re mehandor and will know swiftly that you are older than you look like, but still-and they will not easily believe you, no matter what you say. You know-“ she paused, apparently at a loss of words. 

Atlan grimaced and gave a short flick of his wrist.  
“I know, sera”, he sighed. “Braided honour. Many people think a mehandor somewhat a crook from the start, and well, it is true any trader will try to strike hard deals and get his advantage, as anyone will. But we keep to the Deal and keep our Word, no matter what, and fulfill what we have promised-that’s our honour, and for us, the braid we wear is our symbol of honour, contrary to what people think downworld. But the people I’m berthing with seem to take me in stride, and do not think me a crook just at the sight of a braid.”

Sera Krenna gave a wry smile. “Neither do I, Cunor, or my men. We value a man at the worth he shows, not at the face he presents. Still-“ she grew serious-“ the police won’t in either way if you cannot solidly prove your innocence and that what happened and what you did was self-defense. Count on it that whoever had a go at you will blame you after, no matter that he came up with a knife to your throat. First thing tomorrow I will give you a body-cam to wear, and you wear and keep that with you at any time, day and night, got that, Cunor? With such proof, anyone has to believe you, be they police or even the KOLLOSS.” She shivered slightly. At the youth’s questioning look she said curtly:” That’s the enforcers of authority here, lad, and those you’ll give wide berth, very wide. They care not for any reason you might give or any law you quote. They shoot first and check later if they do at all. Do not try to assert any right you think you might have with them, because in their eyes you have no rights at all, and they think they can do whatever they please-and here, lad, they are right in thinking so, and no question.”

“Yes, sera. Understood, sera.” Cunor’s tone even seemed to have a little military snap to it as he gave another of these little bows.  
“I have even been given a like warning from my bunk-mates. Rest assured, I do not take the warnings lightly.”

Sera Krenna snapped her fingers and smiled slightly again. “Right so, then, Cunor. But mark you-the wenadoran lads have offered you a bed, down here, not a berth or a bunk. You are upon Tela-vhelor, after all, and not up there in a ship where they have bunks and berths.”

He grimaced and sighed a little. “Yes, sera”, he murmured. “I know.”

At that moment footsteps sounded, and Arim came in, followed by Jheley and Sukkar, apparently ready to say goodbye for the day and surprised to still find Cunor with the boss, apparently deep in talk.

“Cunor here has some Dagor “, sera Krenna announced to her employees, which made Arim give a long whistle and made Jheley clap his hands, while Sukkar but raised his brows and gave the youth a long look sideways.   
“Wondered at that, seeing your hands,” he said and gave a curt but approving nod. “You’ve got a sharper blade up your sleeve, it seems, than many would put past you. Good on you, mehandor lad. Harder prey to take you are, then.”

Atlan grinned back at the man, outright. “Yes ser, as you say, ser”, he intoned with a golden glitter in his eyes, which made the men grin openly as well.   
He said goodbye then properly to them all with a bow and was out the door before anyone could go on asking. He had had the opportunity to present himself as he had wished to and could leave at the right moment, the Tashma scene completed, and the puppet set aside before the new entrances were taken up and set upon the center of the stage.

Once outside the young prince took a deep breath and exhaled deeply. Gods, that had gone far better than he could have hoped for. At one point he had feared he would be thrown out for being too much of a shader or a risk to the shop. Instead, it seemed to be like it had been at Rhonn’s wenadoran-a youth with a knife was someone to respect and to reckon with, if not to admire, and was thought to be an asset if one knew he could put up a fight. The people of Makarsa, at least those here in the port district, proved not to be squeamish at all and seemed used to rough proceedings. But then, so had all of the Tai Ark’Tussan been forced to become used to hard times, now in this time of War with the Maahks, who were no methane breathers but breathed in hydrogen, and exhaled ammoniac nitrogen, no matter people were speaking of the Methane War-or the Tai Akh’Gor, the Great Terrible War, which swiftly was becoming a name ever more fitting.  
One thing he could be sure of, the young prince thought, hurrying along towards Rhonn’s and the gang’s abode, he had sera Krenna’s goodwill and the goodwill of her men. Even Sukkar seemed to have thawed to him somewhat, and his little speech-that was as if Fate, the Asa nan’ sahín itself had taken voice to speak to him, giving reason and comfort to a youth lost and feeling helpless. He would take the tall mechanic’s words to heart in truth.

At the wenadoran’s they had supper ready and some of them had partaken of it before their new comrade had come in, but Cunor was offered a seat and a spoon as soon as Selyke spotted him, beaming up at the neat youth with his cap set at a rakish angle and the braid shimmering a little in the light, short as it was still. 

Atlan took his bowl with an elegant and slightly exaggerated bow and very earnestly said ”Thank you, pretty sera”, which made the girl blush and scamper off giggling, throwing back a glance over her shoulder. 

While he took off the cap and the jacket and sat down with a grin beside the boy called Jhaftokan, facing Rhonn across the table, he saw the gang-leader grin back sharply.

“Looks like you can be quite the nirryho, Cunor, if one looks at you. The girls go for manners like yours, it seems.”

The young mehandor grinned back and answered:” I got that. A mato-matso, you mean, one who throws his net to draw in the sweet ones.”

All-round there was snorting and giggling, which grew as Selaron added in a dry tone:” Don’t see why you haven’t been in with a gal yet, Cunor. Shyness and not knowing how to attract cannot have been it-seemed you but lacked the opportunity, before. We’ll make a man of you yet.” That quote from martial fleeter shows made everyone giggle the more, while Atlan, his shoulders twitching, stared hard down into his bowl and had trouble deciding whether he should howl with laughter or feel annoyed. Gods, if they knew-!  
But of course, they didn’t know. Stuffing his mouth with the first spoon of mash-it tasted surprisingly good, for a dish so simple-he forewent further comment and fell to eating with a will, finding he was quite hungry all of a sudden. The emotional upheavals of this prago had drawn upon his nerves and strength no less than the physical exertions now at the workshop, though those could be borne, he had found. Sera Krenna was keeping to the light side of the law and would not overly burden her employees, much as she, too, might like to strike hard deals.

After he had cleaned his bowl he saw Selyke standing at his shoulder, offering a second helping to him with a sweet enough smile, which he took with a thankful smile of his own after having sent Rhonn a questioning look.  
The gang leader had given an approving flick of his wrist, though with a bemused smile which became a content one, seeing their merchanter mate wouldn’t take generosity and things for granted and wasn’t going to thoughtlessly capitalize on his new friends.

The grain mash with add-ins truly was good. And it seemed to be something the gang-members could afford to buy and cook, Tela-vhelor having quite a sizeable industry of agriculture, as it seemed.

“Food’s very good”, he commented after he had wiped the bowl clean and taken it over to the kitchen sink with the others still standing upon the table, empty though used. “Though not oily. Must not be the season for that yet.”

Surprisingly no-one laughed at the pun, they only looked their incomprehension at the mehan’ youth as he turned and eyed them in a little wonder. 

“I mean, only because your world is named the “oily season”, Cunor said apologetically.

“What?” Karena asked, still not comprehending. “Why the oily season? What do you mean, Cunor?”

The merchanter youth gave her a slightly embarrassed look. “Well, doesn’t Tela-vhelor mean exactly that? Oily season?”

At that, a storm of guffawing broke.  
“Gods, Cunor”, Karena murmured, still laughing. “That means “time of plenty”, not anything oily! It just means that the first colonists, coming here, found the soil and the conditions for agriculture of any kind very useful. We are exporting fruit and roots and grain and any kind of vegetables up to Amarynth hub, and that’s no small achievement for a planet like ours. But oily-only our nuts pressed to produce oils are that!”

The kids laughed some more when Cunor, in comical desperation, threw wide his arms in surrender and gallantly remarked:” Time of plenty, well, that sounds much better, I avow. Up station, they’d say “fat time” for that.”

“Well, yes, that expression is where the name of our world comes from, originally, I believe”, Aday threw in thoughtfully. “At the start, they didn’t know whether the planet would hold good on its promises. They had trouble with some sicknesses which have become extinct since then. Actually station is older than the first settlement.”

Atlan frowned a little, trying to remember any station he might have passed on his way in and down with the lifeboat. There had been none, all he could reach running from his captors had been the planet. But out-system where the ship had already passed when he shot out of the hangar, there might be that station they were all talking about and where Sukkar had worked. It made sense for a planet which traded its products-not every trading ship then had to land down world at the ports, and considered the wide lands he had flown over the ports were relatively small to handle all the trade. With a station, though, matters would be different. So this was where he might try to slip away to be able to send a call unhindered-on the one hand. On the other, it would be far harder to hide there, and he might be caught much swifter up there if the authorities got wind of his whereabouts. No, coming down here had been the right choice. The big radio sender which surely could call through to Trantagossa and which had answered the assassins was located down here too, upon the world of plenty. Well, yes, it sounded better.

“Some hundreds of Tai-Votani have passed since then”, Aday added, pride in his voice. “Five-hundred or more, perhaps even six-hundred if you take in the explorer landings and the prospectors looking for minerals. We have that and ore enough for our own use if we don’t get greedy, but we aren’t rich in that in this system. It has gas giants mostly and few moons with a lot of stone and little ore. Mining never was a profitable option, and so we sell agriculture more than anything.”

Backwater and relatively poor as this world must be, her children were proud of her, the young Gos athor noticed, and well they should be.

“Is there any seafood worth the name?” he asked, knowing how much that was desired upon some worlds. “There’s plenty of ocean out there too, I saw. And what about game?”

“Gah, not worth the name”, Aday replied, throwing up his chin. “It’s all kinds of jellyfish and few fish in between, and all of them poisonous, while plants-seaweed-grow in abundance again. Fish we eat come from breeding cultures in ponds, small and without danger to anyone. Nah. What meat we have also we breed on dry land, mostly its ground-bound birds and earth-crawlers and some tame ungulates we originally imported which like the grass. Enough for us to have it now and then, and fresh and tasty.”

“You could grow the meat in vats as we did shipboard, which is easy and cheap and nicely clean and gives you as much as you want”, the merchanter chap said, only to get more disgusted stares. 

“Gah, vat-grown when you can have the original thing”, Rhonn waved the argument aside with a grimace.

Atlan, who had partaken of Imperial hunts upon holiday planets, at least on the vid, knew that killing and afterward eating an animal entailed gutting it, skinning it, scanning and securing the healthiness of the meat, then cutting it asunder. Though most of that was done by robots, of course, there still were Eldrith hunters who prided themselves upon being able to do all of this by hand, like it had been done upon Iprasa and Arkon thousands of Tai-Votani ago. The young prince swallowed and forewent comment once more. At the Gos Khasurn nothing but original delicacies of meat were served, nothing vat-grown either. But that was a luxury not everyone could afford or was entitled to. The essoya commoners got original meat at restaurants, but not at their own homes, mostly, not even those living upon Gos Ranton itself.  
Karena, catching on that the spacer boy felt somewhat at a loss among the groundhoggers here, smiled winningly at her merchanter hero.  
“So, Cunor-about other matters. Weren’t you going to show us a bit of Dagor?”


End file.
